Too Much To Life MICHAEL JACKSON mm
by eilinenennustus
Summary: MICHAEL JACKSON/FREDDIE MERCURY. Michael Jackson is a 22-year-old aspiring superstar in the brink of becoming the greatest entertainer in the world. However, in his personal life he struggles to come in terms with the strange feelings that the aftermath of a Queen concert awakens in him. He's to decide, whether to choose his career - or the man he falls helplessly in love with.
1. Who let Billy Joel in?

Chapter One

**WHO LET BILLY JOEL IN?**

* * *

_Los Angeles February, 1980_

A black limousine rolled past the Moroccan styled arches of the Shrine Auditorium.

Tonight, there was nothing special about it for there were legions of expensive-looking cars parked in the surroundings of the colossal building. Even the most uncivilized passer-by could tell some important event was about to take place here... And that event was the 22nd annual Grammy Awards.

Inside the still-moving car sat a very beautiful, sad-eyed girl who – despite of her relatively young age – had taken part in ceremonies like this before she could barely walk.

She was dressed in a simple peach dress, which complimented her pale complexion. She gazed intently out of the tinted car window and listened to the noise outside.

'Brooke', the young man sitting on her side whispered.

He stroked her palm gently.

'Should we go already, Michael?' Brooke asked nervously and turned to look at the crowd.

There were the paparazzi, the fans – everyone.

And they were all waiting for them.

'I don't know. What's the time, John?'

The chauffeur checked his watch.

'It's half past six.'

'I think we should', Michael decided. 'How do I look like?'

Brooke chuckled at the question but - nevertheless - took it seriously.

'You look great, Michael', she said and didn't lie at all: He was extremely handsome in his black tuxedo, flamboyant sequined shirt and white socks.

'Like a winner?'

'Yeah, like a winner.'

And his face: his skin was so smooth and his eyes – but was that make-up?

Why hadn't she noticed that before?

'You're so pretty', Michael complained, devastated. 'People will look at you and then they'll see me and they'll go: oh, there's the Princess... and the Frog!'

'Michael, shut up already', Brooke snapped.

Michael shrugged and smiled, a bit sadly. Then he opened the car door and stepped out. The crowd went wild when he walked to the other side of the limo and offered his arm to Brooke.

Together they made their way inside the building, ever now and then stopping to pose for the cameras.

When they stepped into the ample parquet-floored foyer of the Auditorium, several heads turned to look in their direction. Brooke spotted Billy Joel and John Williams among the other guests and pressed to Michael's side.

'What's wrong?' Michael asked.

'Nothing... Uh – do you think this dress is too short?'

'No!' Michael hissed, gesturing her to keep her voice down.

'It just feels like it was. What about the back?'

'Brooke, I don't wanna... Please, don't make me stare at your – '.

He blushed.

Brooke giggled and glanced at Michael's face.

Chills ran down her spine.

He was _amazing._Tender, funny, intelligent, vulnerable, adorable...

Yes, she _did_have a crush on him.

But who wouldn't? He was _Michael Jackson_, after all. For her, he was even more than that so it was inevitable.

'Are you excited?' she asked, now in a lower voice.

'You bet', Michael murmured. 'You know, I think - '

'Good evening, Michael.'

Michael jumped and blushed again.

Why people always picked the worst possible moment to enter conversation?

And it had to be Billy Joel, of all people?

'Good evening, Mr. Joel', Michael answered politely.

'And who's this charming young lady?'

'She's Brooke. Shields. A friend of mine.'

'A friend?', Billy repeated slowly. 'Just a _friend_?'

'A special friend', Michael elaborated, irked by his snoopiness.

'Nice to meet you, Miss Shields.'

Billy nodded at Brooke, whose cheeks were blazing red. She didn't look Billy in the eye as they shook hands.

'I really liked your new album, by the way.'

'Thank you'.

'Especially _Don't stop 'til you get enough_. C'est genial, I'd say.'

'Uh – genital...s?'

Brooke covered her face in embarrassment. Billy stared at Michael for a moment and then burst out laughing.

Michael turned crimson.

'I love this man! A genius, isn't he? Or what do you think, Brooke?'

'What's going on in here?' a soft female voice joined in.

Michael sighed in relief.

Diana Ross! Not even his personal guardian angel could help him more now.

Or that's what he thought.

'Michael, dear. I got to come warn you: you should be more careful. If you haven't yet noticed, your girlfriend is in very grave danger indeed.'

Michael shook his head rigorously, but neither Billy nor Diana paid any attention.

'They make a sweet couple, don't they?'

'Brooke's not my - '

'Oh yes they do. You have totally misunderstood my intentions, Mrs. Ross', Billy said, grinning widely. 'I didn't come here to take her away from him, quite on the contrary. You're absolutely right: oh young love!'

'Michael, why don't you say something?' Diana twittered happily and Michael gave her a murderous look.

'For your information, Brooke's _not_my girlfriend.'

'Why so serious, Michael? I don't know what's wrong with him - always reacts so strongly.'

'But he is an artist! A man of emotions, I'd say.'

Michael pulled a face.

'See?'

'I see...'

'Excuse me now, please, I' got to go find the restroom. See you later. Maybe  
we'll have more gold in our hands then', Billy said and winked at Michael.

'See you around, Billy', Michael replied, smiling until Billy was out of  
sight.

'How are you, dear?'

Diana sounded genuine, but the awkward conversation with Billy had totally soured Michael's mood.

'Fine.'

'Michael, it's party time. You've got to loosen up a little bit.'

'Why don't you just let me take care of my own business, Diana?'

Diana frowned.

'So there's the rub. I wasn't sure if you were in trouble or not.'

'In trouble? How come?'

'Billy, you know him. He's a bit of a Don Huan at times, you know him.'

Brooke tried her best to be invisible to the older woman, but accidentally she coughed and Diana immediately turned her attention to her.

'Brooke, you're so silent. Have you two had a fight or have you maybe - '

'Diana, _please._It ain't even funny.'

'So you really aren't a couple?'

'No. We are _not_a couple. Period.'

A sinking feeling settled in Brooke's stomach.

Of couse she knew this - but the way Michael said it... It sounded like he couldn't stand the thought.

'I can't see why we should discuss my private life here in the first place. I don't want to be sound rude but people _do_have ears, Diana.'

Michael took Brooke's hand. Diana noticed this, but didn't comment on it.

'Alright, my baby. You know what to do and you know that I love you.'

'I love you more. Diana – could you please... '

Diana brushed her hair back and flashed him a dazzling smile. Then she placed a little kiss on his cheek and hugged both him and Brooke.

'Very well. I'm sure this will be a lucky night for you - if you just knew how crazy these people are about you. They talk about you all the time, I'm telling you. So you go have good time and take your reward, my baby. You deserve it', she whispered in his ear and flashed them one of her most dazzling smiles before disappearing into the crowd again.

* * *

Brooke took a deep breath when the car finally pulled up to the front of her hotel. The drive from the Shrine Auditorium had felt like an eternity... mainly because Michael hadn't uttered a word since the ceremony had ended. Brooke supposed he was quite unhappy after only winning just one award and decided not to disturb him any more than necessary.

She grabbed her handbag and climbed out of the car. John, the chauffeur, kept on glancing behind, silently urging her to hurry up. He, too, was tired.

'Thank you, Brooke', Michael whispered all of a sudden and touched her hand.

Brooke halted.

'I couldn't have done this on my own. Thanks for being with me.'

'That's what the friends are for, Michael', Brooke replied in a dreamy tone.

The evening had been far from perfect, in many ways. She just wanted to go back into her room, cry her eyes out and nothing else.

'Brooke, come and sit down for a minute. Please.'

She obeyed reluctantly.

Couldn't he see how exhausted she was?

Michael's worried eyes studied her face and Brooke's eyelids fluttered a bit.

'Can you tell me what's wrong?'

Brooke grimaced.

'Please, not this', she whispered silently. 'It's no time for interrogations.'

'Nothing is wrong, Michael, don't worry', she said aloud. 'I'm just tired. It's pretty late, you know.'

'Just tired, huh?'

Brooke didn't answer.

She glanced at John, then at the window she believed belonged to her hotel room, and finally turned back to look at Michael, who raised his hand to caress her temple.

'Brooke, tell me. You can tell me everything, I told ya.'

'Michael, there's nothing wrong with me, believe me.'

She forced a smile on her face and hugged Michael.

'Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?'

The question took her totally by surprise.

'What? Where?' she asked, stammering.

'At my place, of course.'

He invited her to _a dinner._

Now that was something he had _never_done.

'Uhm – okay.'

Michael smiled.

'Great. I'll send John over to pick you up at 5PM then', he announced confidently. 'Is that okay for you?'

'Yeah, that's okay.'

'Of course that's okay', she thought, chuckling to herself and got out of the car.

Michael followed her and soon they stood a bit awkwardly on the pavement, both staring shyly at the ground.

'Er – Good night, Michael', Brooke muttered, trying to sound nonchalant.

In fact, she had meant to add something extra to the words, but cringed at the result.

It sounded too much like she expected something from Michael in return.

Michael, for his part, was in an extremely uncomfortable position.

He knew this was _the_moment, when he should bid her goodnight and... and kiss her.

Should he do that? Did he want to kiss Brooke?

Oh, he never dared to think that far.

He scrutinized her and now she looked very beautiful in the moonlight, in an ethereal and a little bit surrealistic way. Her blonde hair swung softly in the wind and - everything.

He knew she liked him. And he knew he liked her. But – should he kiss her? Right now? What would happen then? What would she do? Was this the last chance? Did he like her that much? Was this -

'Michael?' Brooke asked confused.

'Good night, Brooke!' Michael blurted and bowed clumsily.

Then he gave her a small peck on the cheek and slipped back into the back seat.

'Maybe later', he thought. 'I'm just not ready yet.'


	2. The Magic of the Red High Heels

Chapter Two

**THE MAGIC OF THE RED HIGH HEELS**

* * *

It wasn't the alarm clock but the ringing phone that woke Brooke up the next morning.

It was her mother. They used to call each other at least once a week, mainly talking about unimportant family matters, but this time Mrs. Shields had several questions concerning Brooke's new movie project, _Endless Love_.

'Are you sure you want to do that role?' she asked for the third time, clearly unsatisfied with her previous answers.

'Of course I want, mum.'

'Always remember that you don't have to', she went on and there was a warning edge to her voice. 'Don't let them lure you into something you don't want to do. I know how it's like sometimes. Those older men, they just can't keep their dirty hands to themselves.'

'I know mum, I'll be careful.'

But despite Brooke's best efforts to convince her mother of her ability to survive on her own, Teri kept on ranting about the dangers of middle-aged men and presenting illuminating examples for a full hour, and finally Brooke had to come up with an excuse (she had "a meeting with her co-actor", which wasn't completely untrue because she had it tomorrow) to get rid of her.

After she had hung up, Brooke took a shower and ordered a breakfast. Then she called her childhood friend, Charlotte, who suggested Brooke would grab a cab and visit her. Brooke had nothing against it: it had been a while since she had seen her last and to be honest, she didn't want to spend the whole day alone, panicking over the date with Michael.

However, as she sat in her friend's kitchen, listening to a very complex briefing on Tony's and Rebecca's messy love affair (she didn't know either), she suddenly realized that her thoughts kept drifting back to Michael and she couldn't really concentrate on anything else.

She kept on smiling and tried to look like she was enjoying herself and Charlotte didn't seem to notice the difference.

'Then, you know, one night Tony just appeared on her doorstop. Yeah, can you believe? His eyes were all swollen and he begged her to take him back. That jerk! Rebecca didn't even open the door. Of course she didn't, he was drunk and everything, who knows what could have happened... But he came back the next day, carrying a bouquet of dark red roses!'

'Roses', Brooke repeated, when Charlotte paused for a moment to give her time to react. 'Really?'

'Really. And now they're together again, can you believe? I think they're gonna get married, at least I got that impression when Rebecca called me and told me how Tony had been all goo-goo eyes in front of a jewelry store.'

'Do you want to get married?' Brooke asked, suddenly more interested in the topic.

Charlotte snorted.

'Dunno. Maybe one day, once I find that Mr. Right Guy. How about you?'

Brooke shrugged.

Charlotte looked at her surprised.

'Do you already have someone?'

'Not exactly...' Brooke denied, but Charlotte was already intrigued.

'What do you mean by "not exactly"? You have a boyfriend?'

'Well, he's not exactly my... No, I can't talk about this with you.'

Brooke smiled at her a bit apologetically.

'Why not?' Charlotte insisted. 'I won't tell anyone, I swear.'

'I trust you. But it's kinda complicated.'

'Do I know him?'

'Yeah... I think you do.'

'Oh is he famous?', Charlotte got excited.

'Charlotte, I won't tell you!'

'Alright', Carlotte muttered. 'But why do you keep on giving me those cryptic hints if you don't want to tell me about it...?'

'Because – well, I'm having a dinner with him tonight.'

A wide grin spread across Charlotte's face.

'Oh! Sounds serious enough for me. Good luck! But are you really going there wearing a cardigan?'

Brooke shrugged again, fiddling with her hair nervously. Charlotte eyed her outfit more closely, then shook her head.

'Come, I'll give you something that makes you look _good.'_

* * *

Brooke felt extremely stupid as she strode towards the gates of the Jackson Encino Estate, wearing bright red high heels, tight black dress, and long, ivory jacket: no matter what Charlotte said, Brooke didn't feel like her new clothes made her feel any better about herself.

She still was a little girl and it was ridiculous to expect anything special from this date... Especially when the chances were Michael didn't even consider this as a date.

The guards waved at her and made signs to the security tower to open the gates.

There were a few fan girls standing on both sides of the gates. As soon as they figured out it was Brooke Shields who had just got out of the cab, they ran to her, filled her arms with dozens of little gifts and letters, all wrapped in colorful cellophane, and begged her to pass them on to Michael.

'Tell Michael that I love him! My name is Alice! Alice Scott! Ask him if there's any way he can write me back...'

'Is Michael there? Do you know where he is? Is he there?'

'Could you give him this, please. It's from Samantha. I came here all the way from South Carolina...'

Among other things, Brooke got a self-made portrait of Michael (it was actually very well done), a bright pink envelope decorated with yellow markers and Jackson 5 stickers, a box full of compact cassettes, and even a (clean) pair of Mickey Mouse underwear. She thanked the fans wholeheartedly, swore to forward everything to their favorite Jackson and after that slipped through the gates.

She wasn't even close to the front door when it swung open, and a beaming Katherine Jackson rushed down the stairs, welcoming her with opened arms.

'Brooke, dear! I've been waiting for you! Come in, come in...'

Brooke followed her inside and then handed her the gifts she was holding. Katherine took them and thrust them nonchalantly into one of the cupboards in the hallway (the underwear she put on the lowest shelf).

After the operation she turned back to Brooke.

'It's been a while. And look at you: what a beautiful young lady you are!'

Brooke smiled cordially and returned the compliment.

Then she let Katherine show her around in the house (although she already knew it pretty well) and listened attentively to her story about how she almost got a heart attack when she found two of her grandchildren – Valencia and Brittany – playing with a wasp nest the other day, while Marlon and Carol were out shopping.

After a thorough tour of the estate, Katherine sat down on a couch in the living room and let out a deep breath.

'This is one of my favorite rooms nowadays. I love those curtains', Katherine told Brooke and nodded toward the windows. 'They're go so well with that chandelier. Are you thirsty?'

'No, thank you. I'm fine.'

Katherine smiled and then seemed to remember something.

'The children are in the garden. Do you want to join them?'

'Yes... Uhm – er – is Michael with them?'

'No, he's recording.'

'Oh, I see. Well...'

'Brooke!'

Brooke didn't have time to react before Janet – who had somehow managed to sneak into the room unnoticed – dug her fingers into Brooke's sides.

Brooke screamed and span around.

Janet howled in laughter as she saw Brooke's genuinely frightened face.

'You little devil! You nearly killed me.'

'Nice to meet you too', Janet sneered and wrapped her arms around her.

'How come you're here? Mike didn't even give me a chance to prepare anything.'

Brooke rolled her eyes.

'Maybe you should in general pay more attention to what he says', Katherine pointed out.

Janet shrugged.

'Whatever. Haven't seen him in a while anyways. You like basketball?'

'Yeah, I do.'

'Of course 'cause you're so tall. We're about to start a new game. You wanna play in my team?'

'I don't know...', Brooke muttered and glanced at Katherine.

'Of course you can go.'

'Well, alright then.'

'Mum, you too.'

'No, I think I'll just watch this time', Katherine stated. 'And take care of the water supply.'

'Thanks, I'm sweating like a pig.'

Katherine disappeared into the kitchen. Janet took Brooke's hand and dragged her toward the backdoor.

Along the way they walked past the corridor, at the end of which was the door to the recording studio.

'There he is', Brooke thought longingly.

She imagined him singing, all alone, in a darkened room and the thought made her shudder.

'Hi Brooke!' Marlon greeted her as the two girls finally arrived at the edge of the basketball court.

Marlon's wife, Carol, was sitting on a bench wearing a flower dress and watched her two children playing on the grass. Brooke shook hands with her, exchanging a few polite words. Other brothers – Randy, Tito and Jackie – each gave Brooke a warm hug.

'Okay, which team?' Marlon asked when the formalities were over and Brooke had removed her shoes.

'You should come to us', Randy demanded. 'Donk is in the other team.'

'But then it's two on three', Tito complained.

'It's two on three anyways.'

'Jan. You, Marlon and Jackie are a team - '

'That's not fair!' Janet interrupted. 'I'm better than any of you.'

'Only because we used handicapping...'

'No you didn't!'

'Oh yes we did.'

After a short but furious debate they ended up playing two on three: Janet and Jackie vs. Tito, Marlon and Brooke.

Janet and Jackie dominated the game for the first two minutes, but the threesome improved their strategies all the time and soon had the upper hand.

'Oh, why our brother Michael isn't playing?' Jackie wailed frustrated after he once again failed to stop Marlon, who was happy to jam the ball inside.

'You know he has to work', Janet stated irritated. 'And it's not his fault that you suck.'

'I haven't even seen him since the last weekend. Is he even in da house?'

'Well, forget him.', Marlon suggested. 'He's got something better to do.'

'No, I'm mad at him.', Jackie snarled in a louder voice. 'I don't care what you think but I'm gonna say he's being an ass.'

'Why do you care so much?'

''Cause he happens to be my brother.'

Marlon rolled his eyes.

'I mean - why now?'

'You ask me: why now. Look: here's Brooke. She's a very pretty girl, one of the prettiest I've ever seen. She's come here to see him. Last night she was in the Grammys with him, I saw them on TV. Now, Brooke, tell me: are you his girlfriend?'

'No', Brooke admitted, blushing.

'Exactly what I mean. Here's our brother, he is 21-year-old, decent looking bloke, but he has never been with a woman - you remember when we tried to hook him up with that stripper? He recited passages from the Bible to her, crying out loud! And all he does nowadays is dance, sing, and stroke his fluffy little pet llamas.'

'That isn't something you should worry about now is it' Brooke snapped, her temper rising. 'He's a gentleman.'

'No, he is a sissy. That's what he is.'

'A sissy?' Randy questioned.

'Oh, come on. He used to be just fine – but you know, ever since he has sold those... what, 10 million albums or so on his own, he's been acting like a queen.'

'Like a king!'

'No, like a queen.', Jackie spat out venomously.

'He's no queen', Brooke interrupted, not able to comprehend why Jackie suddenly got so upset over Michael's absence.

'So you really are his girlfriend, aren't you?'

'No, I am not. Why are you asking, when this is none of your business anyway?'

'Yeah, Jackie, chill out. We were here to play basket, 'member?'

'Michael is a gentleman. He will find the right girl some day.'

'Oh yeah, you tell me.'

'Okay, lets play then. This is getting ridiculous', Janet cut them off.

'I don't wanna play anymore', Randy announced and dropped the ball to the ground.

'Me neither', Jackie snapped and stormed away, almost crashing into his mum, who came out of the house carrying a juice jug.

'What? You aren't playing anymore?'

'No, we'll take a short break', Janet muttered, annoyed.

* * *

Suddenly Valencia - Marlon's daughter - began to cry.

Katherine and Carol rushed to check what was wrong with her (Brittany had hit her in the head with a red high heel shoe), and when Brooke came into the conclusion she was not needed to comfort her, she made her way back into the house. Automatically, her feet led her to the door of the recording studio.

For a moment, Brooke stood still, staring at the doorbell on the left-hand side of the door.

'He wouldn't have a doorbell unless he wanted it to be used', Brooke reasoned and laughed at her own silliness.

A split second later, however, she had already pushed the button.

A red light lit up above the soundproof door.

Besides that, nothing happened.

Michael had once told Brooke he his own room connected with stairs to the studio so that he could get there whenever he needed to. So what gave Mrs. Jackson the impression he indeed _was _recording and not practicing new dance steps upstairs, for example?

After several unsuccessful attempts, Brooke gave up.

Perhaps Michael wasn't even at home.

But when Brooke already turned to leave, she heard some rustling from the other side of the door and soon the door was cracked open.

'Yes?' Michael asked sharply from inside the door.

'It's me.'

Michael stuck his head out and when he saw Brooke, his furrowed eyebrows straightened.

'Brooke...You came.'

'Erm - yeah', Brooke whispered, relieved. 'Did I interrupt something?'

'No, no, no... Not at all. Come here.'

Michael opened the door further and Brooke slipped into the tiny office which was the first of the four rooms that made up Michael's home studio.

The first thing Brooke noticed in the packed office was a massive mahogany desk which stood in front of the small, barred window.

There were paper piles scattered all around it; sheets on which Michael had written some lyrics he didn't want to forget and then again some unfinished sketches. Amongst them was a giant card box full of empty compact cassettes and vinyl records all jumbled together.

'What were you doing?' Brooke asked curiously.

Michael held up the portable cassette recorder in his hand.

'Areyou satisfied with it?'

'No, not at all. I'm in the middle of something. It's already given but won't come out yet.'

Michael put the device back on the table.

'Okay. Lets go out, Brooke. I want some fresh air.'

Brooke nodded and followed him outside.

Michael didn't stop or look behind until he reached what he called his "Magical Place" - a sheltered, square place close to the garden, in the middle of which was the white marble fountain, which was one of his favorite things in the whole world.

Michael watched mesmerized the shimmering water as it poured down the polished stone surface. He sat down on the ground, without taking his eyes off the water. He didn't even notice when Brooke dropped down next to him.

She noticed that Michael's eyes were darker than usual, almost black. They appeared to be looking inward and into the distance at the same time, as if he could see his own soul reflected in the water of the fountain.

The sun disappeared behind the clouds and, out of the blue, the water in the fountain lost its life. Michael let out a heavy sigh and shifted closer to Brooke.

Brooke's breath quickened. Against her will she, too, leaned closer to him, and looked at Michael. She startled when his coal black orbs turned to stare back at her.

Michael held her gaze and his stare was very intense and strong, almost frighteningly so.

'What do you see?' Brooke asked nervously when she thought she couldn't bear another second of it. 'What is it?'

'I see you', Michael slurred. 'Which means that I see the _Wonder_.'

Brooke's cheeks heated up and she had to take some time to compose herself before she could bring herself look him in the eye again.

'Brooke, can you answer one question.'

'What question?' Brooke asked confused.

'Do you like me?'

_Is it that obvious?_

'Yes I do', Brooke confessed.

_Oh my God!_

Michael blinked.

'You're my friend, Michael. Of course I like you', Brooke added quickly.

'But do you like me just because – because I'm Michael Jackson?'

'Because you are you? What does that mean?'

'Answer me: do you like me or do you like Michael Jackson?'

Brooke was dumbstruck.

'Uh, so... You're two different people?'

'Yes', Michael answered without hesitation.

'I like you, not your image.'

Michael scrutinized her. He knew that the mouth could lie but the eyes couldn't. And now he could see that she was telling the truth.

'You really like me', he whispered in awe.

Brooke smiled shyly.

'Brooke, i don't know how to ask this...'

'Ask _what_, Michael?'

Michael gulped.

'I don't know.'

'No, go on. I'm your friend, you can ask me everything.'

Michael coughed. He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again.

Then he took a deep breath.

'Would you like to be my girl?'

Brooke's heart raced.

That couldn't be the question. This couldn't be happening.

'Eh... Pardon? What?' she asked in disbelief.

'Would – you – like to be my girlfriend?'

Brooke brought her hand to her mouth and just stared at Michael.

_Did he even know what he was doing?_

'Uhm - can you explain me what you mean by that?' she asked, trying to sort out her thoughts.

'I want you to be my girlfriend. Of course, if you don't want to, then I'll just...'

Michael bit his lip nervously.

Brooke was still baffled by the question. Yes, she wanted to be Michael's girlfriend, wanted more than anything. She had _dreamed_of this moment, stayed up all night long crying over Michael...

But she never dared to imagine this would happen for real... And in such a strange way.

'Brooke? Say something, please... We can forget about this, just forget what I just said - '

'No! I mean - of course I want! But do you really... Do you really like me that much?'

'I do like you', Michael assured her, relaxing visibly. 'A lot', he added, blushing.

Then he smiled shyly, a strange look on his face.

Brooke raised her eyebrows.

'What?'

'Do you mind if I... uh... kiss you now?'

Brooke giggled.

'Michael,you don't have to ask. Just do it, okay.'

Michael looked hurt by her reaction and Brooke stopped laughing instantly and closed her eyes.

It was surreal. Brooke could hear Michael breathing heavily. His clothes shuffled as he moved toward her, very slowly...

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder and another hand cupped her chin. Then she  
felt a tingling on her upper lip.

This was it. This _is _it - now.

Michael's lips touched hers and pressed against them. Slowly he deepened the kiss and slid his hand behind her neck.

This was the very first time, very first time he kissed his girlfriend. Or anyone, for that matter. And it was wonderful, everything was so soft, chaste, elegant... Not wet at all, like he had feared. She tasted sweet like candy and her hair smelled of lavenders...

But suddenly he felt like he was suffocating and broke away from her.

Brooke sighed when their lips parted. This couldn't be real. She had never, ever been kissed like that. It was the sweetest of kisses: romantic, slow, and very tender.

And to make it even better: it had been _Michael._

She grasped Michael's hand when he tried to move it. neck. Michael cringed and lowered his eyes.

Then he gave her an embarrassed smile.

Brooke picked up the hint and released his hand.

'I – Uhm - Could you...?'

'Yeah, of course', Brooke said and stood up, still in haze.

Michael had gone back to staring at the fountain.

'I'll go inside then... The dinner, you know.'

Michael nodded briefly and mustered a sheepish smile before quickly glancing up at Brooke.

'I'll follow you in a minute.'

As soon as she had gone, Michael's body was shaken by a violent sob. He collapsed on his back on theground, dug his fingers into the soil and wailed. He squirmed like he wanted to get out of his skin and seemed to be in pain.

'Oh, the irony!' he cried.

The sun was nowhere to be seen, for it had already set behind the fountain.


	3. The Man Behind the Beard

Chapter Three**  
****THE MAN BEHIND THE BEARD**

* * *

During the following four months, Michael saw Brooke more than ever: Brooke practically lived at Hayvenhurst.  
However, she soon came to realize how limited Michael's physical world was.

He used to spend most of his time alone, locked in his room; He never went out without his bodyguards. He didn't have a racing license, which meant that he always had to have someone drive for him in case he wanted to leave the house.

All in all, Brooke was convinced this kind of isolation would make him sick in the long run.

So, what she decided to do was to make sure he got a taste of what it was like to live in the outside world. She racked her brain, trying to find a way to make Michael Jackson and the everyday life come together.

To come up with a solution wasn't even difficult.

Michael had used disguises before - when he went out to preach as a Jehovah's Witness - but now Brooke talked him into trying out the same in a different kind of environment.

Together they begged Karen Faye - Michael's make up artist - to develop some kind of easy but efficient way to disguise him. She ended up making him a realistic fake beard, which allowed him to talk and move with relative ease. Michael completed the outfit with appropiate, shabby clothes and as a result looked like a 60-year-old black Charlie Chaplin.

Now Brooke and Michael started to go out frequently. All they needed to do was to keep low profile and not to attract any unwanted attention. But after these precautions - and with Brooke dressed as conventionally as possible (so that she wouldn't be recognized either) - they could go to concerts, art exhibitions, zoos, amusement parks... basically _everywhere_they wanted to, without having to deal with Michael's dangerously over-enthusiastic fans.

For Michael this new freedom was groundbreaking. What Brooke showed him was a fascinating world full of colors, nuances, and sounds; Normal life was something he had never experienced first hand before. And the more he saw of it, the more he craved for it.

Usually, when they returned from their adventures, Michael's mind was filled with visions and music and he hurried into the recording studio, singing everything into the tape recorder. Even his brothers got their share of these creative eruptions (they were recording a new album together at the same time) but most of the pearls he kept for himself.

No matter how grateful he was for all of this, it didn't make him very happy in the end.

'I've been missing out', he muttered bitterly one warm July evening, when they were wandering aimlessly through the streets of Encino.

'I haven't had any of that', he went on, scowling at the polished, fancy cars which were neatly parked in front of the posh houses.

'What's with the cars?' Brooke questioned, not fully grasping Michael's point.

'No, more than the cars... Their life! They're ordinary families, they live ordinary lives. I've seen them. I've been on their doorsteps', he rushed to say when Brooke opened her mouth to argue. 'I've been in their houses and - you know what? They've toy cars, and they have toy pianos, and Barbie dolls, and their parents _love_each other and everything. It's like a fantasy world... for me at least. And you know, then there are those teenagers living in the streets – have you seen them? - they've gangs and stuff, they fight all the time and some of them even have _guns_. And they're nothing but _kids_. It's so sad, it makes me so sad and angry.'

Michael kicked an empty Coke can out of his way and then recognized what he had just done, bent down, picked the can up and held it up for Brooke to see.

'Why do people make this? Don't they care about anything? What's wrong with them?' he snarled.

'They're lazy, Michael.'

'I can't believe this', Michael growled. 'They have everything – and they couldn't care less.'

'They don't have everything, Michael.'

'Well, they have more than I do.'

'That's not true. Not at all. Michael, they _envy_you and perhaps you've not seen how much they - '

'Look'.

Michael stopped and pointed to the other side of the street.

There, behind a low white fence, stood a little black boy who watched them intently.

Brooke took off her sunglasses.

The kid gazed at them very suspiciously, then pulled a blue toy car out of his pocked and tried to play with it but soon he got distracted by the audience and gave up.

Something seemed to bother him. Michael could almost hear how the wheels turned in his head, when he tried to decide whether or not to ask the question that had popped into his mind.

'Why your boyfriend is so old?' the boy eventually asked Brooke after gathering enough courage. 'Or is he your grandpa?'

Michael raised his eyebrows, glanced at Brooke and then they both broke into laughter.

'He is not _that _old', Brooke threw back, suppressing giggles. Michael stroked his fake beard and pretended to be offended but failed miserably.

'But he _is _old', the child insisted, and put the car back into his pocket.

He crossed the street and walked closer to them to have a proper look. 'Look! He's like Santa!' he declared triumphantly.

'No he's not.'

'Why are you so old?' the boy asked Michael. 'You gonna die anytime soon? How old are you?'

'How old are _you?_' Michael asked back.

'Nine.'

'And what's your name?'

'Trevor.'

'Well – Trevor – let me tell you a secret.'

Michael beckoned the boy to come closer. Then he bent down to whisper in his ear:

'I'm 21 really.'

The boy shook his head firmly.

'No.'

'No? That's true.'

'No it's not. You lie. You can't be 21, you must be at least _hundred_years old.'

Michael grinned broadly and straightened his back.

'Okay, then I'll show you something'.

He told the boy to stand back. Then he did the leg-kick, span, and ended the short performance with some locking moves he had been perfecting lately.

The boy gaped at him in awe. When he got his tongue back, he shrieked:

'That was _awesome_, man! Can you teach me how to do that?'

Michael winked at Brooke. But just then the door of Trevor's home was thrown open and a young, chubby woman appeared in the doorway.

She looked around, worried, then located her son.

'Trevor! How many times I got to tell you _not _to leave the yard?'

'But mum - '

'And leave that gentleman alone. I'm so sorry'.

'No, no, no. It's alright. We were just having a little talk', Michael hollered back.

Little Trevor ran across the street and leaped back to the other side of the fence. When his mum had seen him return to where he belonged, she slammed the door shut.

'That was close', Brooke whispered, letting out the breath she had been holding.

Michael nodded.

'Hey', Trevor yelled, leaning against the fence. 'Will you come back? To teach me? Please!'

'We'll see – maybe one day!'

'If he just knew who you really were', Brooke chuckled, shaking her head.

Michael laughed but his eyes were gloomy and clouded. Slowly they walked on, leaving Trevor behind.

For some time they ambled forwards, both deep in thought. Then Brooke glanced at Michael and smiled as she recalled what the little boy had said and suddenly remembered something else:

'Michael, do you have anything planned for tomorrow evening?'

'Like what? I have to work.'

'Well, I thought... I _happen _to have two tickets – I just wondered if you wanted to see _Queen_live.'

'Oh – _Queen_? I didn't even know they were touring - I guess I would. Where is it?'

'At The Forum, in Inglewood.'

'Okay. I'm in.'

They turned left where Hayvenhurst and Libbit ave crossed and Michael slowed down and counted how many fans were guarding in front of the gates and if there was a chance he could creep in unnoticed through the side gate.

'I'm afraid this beard won't fool them', he said, grinning.

Brooke poked him in the rib. Michael slapped her hand away and tickled her. She shrieked, enjoying the attention, but after a while squirmed away from his reach.

'That's enough!' she hissed.

Michael stopped at once and smiled.

'Good night, Brooke.'

'Good night, Michael.'

Michael gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

This was just how far they had gone in four months time... But neither Brooke nor Michael cared.

They didn't even mind Katherine now and then making comments on how pretty Brooke would look in a white bridal dress and tiara.


	4. The Games Begins

Chapter Four**  
****THE GAME BEGINS**

* * *

It was dark.

The air was hot and thick with anticipation. Occasionally some girl in the audience would let out a high-pitched scream but it was always drowned out by the roaring crowd.

Michael had totally absorbed the collective feeling. At the moment he couldn't believe how lucky he was, sitting here like anyone else and waiting to be entertained. He could hardly contain himself.

Maybe that's why it took him a good while to realize people were staring at him and Brooke - and whispering.

When he noticed what was going on, he tried to get Brooke's attention by giving her meaningful looks, lifting his eyebrows ina conspiratorial manner and making complex hand signs.

Brooke, for her part, did her best to try and make out what he was trying to tell with all those strange gestures, but they didn't seem to make sense.

She finally reacted though, when thoroughly frustrated Michael tugged her ponytail.

'What are you doing?' she squealed, jerking her head away. 'Get off my hair, Mike.'

'People are _staring_, Brooke.'

'I wonder why!'

Michael scowled at her.

'Of _course _they're staring, Mike. You look three times older than me.'

She patted his rumpled hair affectionately.

Michael sulked.

'You're messing it up.'

'Sorry, didn't notice you actually had a _hairdo_.'

'Won't you stop?'

'Okay, okay... _Diva_.'

Michael ignored Brooke and shut out the outside world.

Brooke fiddled with the hem of her skirt and avoided looking directly at anyone else.

Time went by slowly, and the noise became louder with each passing minute. Two or three girls had already been carried away after they'd passed out due to the heat and lack of air.

But then - at last - something began to happen: a few dark figures sneaked onto the stage.

When they'd found their markings, they froze into statues.

Suddenly a blinding light flashed, revealing the silhouettes of the four men. Girls screamed, whistled, and cried. Another flash ensued and the noise doubled.

But the third flash made them go _crazy_, because instead of one quick flash it was a_ series _of impressive lighting effects and the giant, 3 color light towers were lifted up.

Only seconds later, the guitar riffs of _Jailhouse Rock_shook the arena from floor to ceiling.

Michael could distinguish a pair of legs white leather descending the stairs and instinctively knew that they belonged to no one else but Mr. Freddie Mercury himself. He moved with grace – he was actually a very good dancer - but what took Michael by surprise was the moment when he grabbed the microphone.

He blushed when he heard him sing. His live voice was incredibly powerful and clear; angry and smooth at the same time.

Piece by piece he made the arena his own: talking, walking and belting the lyrics out with fierce passion. He oozed energy and self-confidence.

Michael just couldn't take his eyes off him. Even after the final encore, when the band had left the stage for good, he still sat and stared at the empty arena.

Eventually - when most of the audience had already departed - Brooke awoke him from his trance by pinching his earlobe

'Ouch!'

'Ground control to Major Michael', she joked.

Michael pouted and blinked twice.

'I reckon you liked it', Brooke tried to help.

'Yeah...'

'Are you okay?'

'What?'

'I just asked if you were okay.'

'I'm okay... I guess.'

'You don't look well.'

Then the reality hit Michael.

'Brooke!' he exclaimed, sounding upset.

He shot up from his seat.

'What's wrong?' Brooke asked alarmed.

'We've got to go!'

'Didn't know we were in hurry.'

Michael shook his head, annoyed.

'No, not that... Come on.'

'Where are we going?'

But Michael didn't answer. He was already halfway down the stairs.

* * *

He rushed down to the ground floor, jumping two or three steps at a time - Brooke was surprised he didn't knock anyone over when he weaved his way through the crowd - and ran towards where he knew one of the doors leading to the backstage area was located.

Those who were moving toward the exits watched bemused as what appeared to be an older-looking man sprinted past them as agile as a young man.

Brooke tried to keep up with Michael, but he was way too fast for her. After a few steps she lost sight of him. She continued in the same direction nevertheless and soon spotted him standing in front of an important-looking door, arguing with two important-looking security guards.

'You really should let me in', he insisted in an irritated tone.

'And tell me a damn good reason why' the blond-haired guard sneered, winking at the other guard.

'I'm Michael Jackson! I practically live here' Michael exclaimed. 'Please, let me in.'

'Oh, sure you are. Get lost, papa. This area is for staff only.'

Then the guard's eyes fell on Brooke, who had appeared by Michael's side.

'Hey - aren't you that young model girl? From that jeans commercial?'

Brooke nodded briefly.

'You're really beautiful... I mean, in real life as well.'

'Thank you', Brooke snapped.

Without thinking she tugged Michael's beard, eliciting a screech of pain from him.

'No! NO! It won't get off, it's been glued!' Michael screamed.

'This is a really bad joke, Sam.'

'Come on', Brooke said, annoyed. 'He really is Michael Jackson, he's disguised.'

The other guard - Sam - looked doubtful.

'Could I use the restroom?' Michael pleaded. '_Please._'

'The public bathrooms are over there', Sam stated dryly and pointed to the corridor on their left side.

'Can't go _there_. Please, I've got the glue remover in my bag. I'll get rid of this in a minute if you just let me...'

The guards exchanged looks. Then Sam got an idea.

'What if you sang for us then? One of your songs.'

'Pardon?' Michael exclaimed, stunned. 'I don't think so.'

'A pity. Then get the hell out of here or I'll call the police.'

Michael's jaw clenched. He mulled over options and came to the conclusion that this indeed was the fastest way to prove his indentity, no matter how humiliating it was.

'Alright then', he gave in. 'But only if you let me and Brooke without any kind of delay. What do you want me to sing?'

Sam arched his eyebrow.

'Well, lets see what you got.'

Michael cleared his throat and wondered if he was just wasting his time.

'Come on, papa!'

Michael didn't listen. He closed his eyes, composed himself and then - out of nowhere - sang the first line of_She's Out Of My Life._

And that was more than enough.

Both guards froze and paled.

Very swiftly, Sam rushed to open the door and let Michael and Brooke walk through it.

Sam followed them and explained Michael where he could find the nearest restroom (Michael appreciated the gesture even though he the place wasn't exactly new to him) to remove his beard.

About fifteen minutes later Michael came back, beardless, and the sight made Sam cringe.

'How come I didn't recognize you?' he wailed, shaking his head apologetically.

'You weren't supposed to', Michael smirked.

'Ahem. I'm sorry anyway.'

'It's alright', Michael stated and put on his shades. 'I should have known better as well. Can you now take us to the green room...?'

Sam nodded and led Michael and Brooke into a large cabinet, where a funny-looking young man sat on a black leather couch reading a newspaper.

A cleaner, who had been wiping the glass table, gaped at them her eyes as wide as dining plates and took off before Michael could even have a proper look at her.

The man, however, didn't go anywhere. He was lost of words for a split second, but recovered soon.

'Okay, Sam. A nice one', he chuckled, folded the newspaper and put it aside.

Sam winked and disappeared into the corridor.

'Peter Freestone, Freddie Mercury's personal assistant in your service. Nice to meet you', the man said and stretched out his hand.

'Nice to meet you too.'

'They'll be here in a minute so you can sit down and have a glass of water. Or perhaps something stronger...?'

Peter offered Michael a beer bottle but Michael refused politely.

'I'm fine, thanks.'

He sat down on another couch across from Peter, who began to ask him questions, apparently trying to stir up some kind of conversation. Michael answered absent-mindledly with one word or two.

Meanwhile, Brooke - whom Michael had forgotten to introduce - stood nervously at the door.

For some time she observed the two men, wondering if she should join in before they noticed her. However, to her relief, she saw a couple of paintings hanging on the wall close to the door and busied herself with them.

Minutes passed and little by little Michael grew impatient. He felt very self-conscious in his dishevelled clothes and his chin was sore from rubbing.

Why he had to come here so unprepared? He didn't even have anything to say.

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK_

And now they were here and he still couldn't even tie two thoughts together.

Sam peeked in.

'Mr. Jackson and Ms. Shields – shall I introduce you to..._ Queen_', he announced proudly and held the door open for the band members as they entered the cabinet, looking slightly bemused.

Funnily – although Michael failed to see this - _Queen _members were just as star-struck as Michael himself. Surprisingly, Freddie Mercury turned out to be the shyest of them all, and hardly uttered a word when he shook hands with Michael neither looked him in the eye.

The greetings were followed by an awkward silence. Michael knew the others were expecting him to say something - maybe even give a speech - but his head was buzzing. His mouth clung to the roof of his mouth. He didn't have the words.

'You were brilliant', he finally managed to whisper in a strangled voice.

'Thank you', Brian May answered, seemingly satisfied with the compliment. 'Had I known Michael Jackson was in the audience, I would have played better though'.

Michael let out a very bright and loud 'hee-hee' (it was intended to be a giggle) which broke the ice as everyone erupted in laughter.

After that, the atmosphere relaxed remarkably.

'Who's she?' John Deacon asked all of a sudden, eyeing Brooke curiously.

Brooke jumped as everyone turned to look at her.

'Oh, I'm really sorry... This is Brooke Shields, my – friend', Michael said, motioning her to come closer.

Brooke winced at the last word, but knew well that Michael didn't want anyone outside his family to know about their relationship. Hence she swallowed her pride and shook hands with John.

'Brooke Shields.'

'John Deacon, nice to meet you.'

'Roger Taylor.'

'Brian.'

'Well, what have you been up to lately?' Brian inquired Michael, when an uncomfortable silence threated to fall over them. 'Anything good?'

'Uh... I've been writing new songs, a lot of them... Look: I'm gonna give you my phone number, in case you were interested in, you know, collaborating in the future', he said, spitting the words out like a machine gun and with trembling hands drew a pencil and a piece of paper from his pocket.

When he had written the number down on the paper (the band members watched the scene in dismay), he folded it and shoved it hastily into Freddie's hand.

'Here you are. It was very nice to meet you. Once again: I _loved _the show, every minute of it - I'm still up from it! And you really should consider releasing _Another One Bites The Dust _as a single_, _I really mean it. I do.'

Then he blushed crimson and ran out of the room.

Brooke followed right on his heels.

'Well, that's all you wanted to say?' she asked somewhat surprised.

'I don't know! I was so embarrassed', Michael wailed.

As soon as he had turned the next corner, he halted and leaned his back against the wall. He felt weak at the knees.

'I hate being so shy.'

'Michael, it wasn't that bad', Brooke assured and stroked his arm. 'They were just as nervous as you were.'

'No they weren't.'

'Yes, they were. Come', she purred, took his hand and brought it to her lips. She kissed his palm tenderly.

Michael didn't resist, but when she tried to plant a kiss on his mouth, he pushed her gently away.

'I'm sorry, Brooke. Can't do this now. Not here.'

Brooke understood, although she was a bit ashamed of being turned down.

As soon as Michael had collected himself, they silently made their way back to the hall.


	5. Someone in the Dark

Chapter Five

**SOMEONE IN THE DARK**

* * *

Michael couldn't believe his eyes.

James Brown had been talking casually with him just a minute ago - and then, all of a sudden, he grabbed his left foot shoe and started to _eat it._

James Brown was eating his loafers! Who could have guessed?

And he should be on the stage already. Didn't James understand that he _needed _his loafers to be able to perform properly?

Oh God, now he moved on to nibble his sequined socks.

Then Michael became aware of his brothers, who were standing close, watching how Michael's footwear slowly disappeared into James' muscular throat.

Suddenly Michael realized Jermaine was amongst them - as if he had never left the group - wearing dance shoes and white socks. As Michael caught his eye, he stated:

'I'll sing and dance for you, Mike.'

'But you can't dance, Jermaine.'

'Oh, yes I can. I'm better than you actually. We don't need your ass. We'll do just _fine_ without you.'

'No you won't.'

'Look - I have even a glove.'

Jermaine showed a white rhinestone glove in his left hand.

'Check this out.'

'You've - one glove? Where's the other?' Michael asked confused.

'Yeah, see - I lost it. Didn't need that either.'

'Right.'

'Now watch.'

And he did the tornado spin that had taken Michael years to master.

He smirked smugly as he span, and span, around and around and over and over again...

_Wait a sec._

Jermaine couldn't spin like that. That was a fact. He simply didn't have it in him.

'This isn't real!' Michael exclaimed aloud - and woke up.

Even though Michael was relieved to find what he had experienced indeed _was _nothing but a nightmare, he still was a little bit disappointed: there was no James Brown nor his brothers around but he was all alone in his own room.

Sighing, he rolled to his side.

At moments like this, Michael wished he had Brooke here sleeping with him. This room - a giant, cold, lifeless chamber in the middle of which he laid on his king-sized mattress made him feel terribly lonely - even more lonely than usually.

Right now, he couldn't even hear anything. Latoya and mum had their rooms downstairs and Janet wasn't at home. Muscles - his pet boa constrictor - was probably asleep (Michael had covered his terratorium with blankets for the night) and he didn't dare to wake him.

Next Michael's eyes fastened on the mannequins, which stood at the windows. They appeared a bit eerie in the moonlight with their immobile limbs and silvery hair. But they did resemble humans in a way. Especially one of them - the prince, who was positioned so that he could see the trees outside - looked like he had about to come to life.

The prince was his favorite doll. It had been clad in green velvet and wore a golden crown on his royal head. His skin was bright as the sun and he was standing upright, carrying himself with dignity beyond his years.

He was still young, but Michael knew - for sure - that he would never become a king. He was like Hamlet: He would stay as the prince he had always been - but nothing more.

The doll cast a shadow on the wall behind him. There Michael could see his aristocratic silhouetto outlined against the white wallpaper and suddenly he smiled.

_"I see a little silhouetto of a man..."_

He chuckled. The prince knew better than him...

The memories of the last night flooded his mind, giving him the much-needed distraction from the emptiness that surrounded him.

He replayed the songs in his head and indulged in every single detail: how the first notes of _Bohemian Rhapsody _fell in the air like raindrops, how delicious the final chord of the quitar solo for _Killer Queen _was and how breathtakingly beautiful was Freddie Mercury's interpretation of _Love Of My Life. _

_That _was what he called the Art of Escapism, and _Queen_ had truly mastered it.

If he only could experience that again... He wanted to forget everything so badly.

What held him back then?

Michael laughed.

_Nothing but myself._

So - right then and there he made the decision: he wanted to forget, get back into oblivion.

And if that meant he got to go see _Queen _again, so be it.**  
**

* * *

Michael didn't know where to go. For the last half an hour he had wandered aimlessly along the corridors of the basement floor of the Forum. This time he was wearing his own blue jacket and jeans - and carried a big black duffle black, where he had stuffed some scarves and baggy clothes in case he needed to disguise himself.

After the show had ended, he had sat on his seat until all the other members of the audience left. Then he had sneaked into the backstage area (this time he was let in straight away) and ended up in the basement to avoid being spotted.

'Though', as he told himself when he walked past the same row of doors for the thousandth time, 'I'm just wasting my time.'

But Michael didn't want to leave the building yet. He felt like the show was still going on: He wanted to savor every bit of the remains of the illusion.

However, gradually he grew tired with walking and slipped into one of the dressing rooms (the door was unlocked) and - to his delight - he found a comfortable-looking, cushy armchair there. Like a little child he settled into it, curled into a ball and dozed off.

The next thing he knew was when the door was suddenly torn open and a bright beam of light cut through the darkness.

Michael looked over at the door and a frightened roadie gaped back at him in disbelief.

'I - I - I - m sorry', he stammered frantically. 'I - I - I didn't know you - you - are - are - were - '

The youth was at a loss: He stood in the doorway not able to decide whether he should leave or stay. Despite being disturbed in such a brutal way, somewhere deep inside Michael wished he'd stay and keep him company.

'Are - are you okay, sir?' the roadie inquired politely after some time.

'Yeah...' Michael muttered rubbing his eyes. 'I was - dozing.'

'Were you expecting someone, sir?'

'No.'

Michael wished the roadie would stop asking questions but apparently it was his a part of his duties to try and find out why Michael Jackson was slumbering in the basement floor of the Forum at midnight.

'Do you want anything, sir?'

'No.'

'I uhm... I have to lock these doors for today. The alarms will go off if you try to exit from this door after that.'

Michael bolted up.

'What's the time?'

'It's 12AM, sir.'

'Oh boy. Have I slept _that_ long?'

'Yes you have, sir.'

'Is there - are _Queen_ still there?'

'No, sir. As far I as know they left right after the show.'

Michael's heart sank.

'Sir, could you - '

'I will come upstairs. In a sec.'

'But I have to - '

'Fine!' Michael snapped, grabbed his bag and stormed past the sad-eyed man.

He climbed up the stairs, and started to walk toward the exit. However, after a few steps he turned on his heels and ran in the opposite direction. There were a bunch of technicians and assistants swarming in the corridors, but none of them dared to stop him.

The cabinet was empty and dark. Michael shut the door after him and took a long breath. Then he stripped off his jacket, collapsed on a sofa by the door and closed his eyes.

He imagined he was swinging. He swung back and forth and no one was watching him... It didn't matter how imperfect each swing was. No one was _pushing_ him. To and fro - and he alone was pumping the swing, higher and higher...

_CLICK._

The lights flashed on and Michael's eyes fluttered open.

This was the _second _time today.

Wearily he raised his hand to cover his eyes.

'Oh. Sorry', a mellow voice whispered and the lights went off again.

Michael's chin fell to his chest. He was swinging again. To and fro, to and fro, to and fro, on and on until...

'Aaow!' Michael squealed and his eyes flew open. And what he saw made him jump again.

It was Freddie Mercury who was standing in front of him in the darkness, staring at him an astonished look on his face.

His dark eyes were penetrating and focused. His expression was both frightening and frightened. The spot on Michael's shoulder which his hand had touched a moment earlier still radiated heat.

Michael blinked and suddenly was fully awake.

'So - I had the honor of finding out where Michael Jackson sleeps at night. How convenient.'

Freddie's eyes laughed. Michael bit his lower lip confused and his eyes darted in every direction.

'So - what are you doing here at this time?' Freddie questioned and made a move as if to sit down but then decided against it.

'Were you at the concert?' he asked instead, scratching his neck.

'Yeah, yeah... And I loved it.'

Freddie chuckled.

'It was worse than yesterday', he pointed out.

'I loved it just as much', Michael insisted.

Freddie gave Michael a lopsided grin and eventually slumped down on the sofa next to him. Michael shifted slightly away from him and cleared his throat.

'Well, the audience was calmer tonight', he stated matter-of-factly. 'But each audience _is _different. And - you know - the noisiest fans always get tickets for the very first shows of the series.'

'Very true', Freddie admitted and rested his head on the back of the sofa.

A silence ensued. No footsteps could be heard from the corridor which meant almost everyone had left the backstage area by now. The security guards (which were on duty around the clock) were scattered all over the building, mainly at the entrances.

The two men sat in the dimly lighted room, relieved after having found another soul who wasn't in hurry or needed anything from them. As weird as it may have seemed from outside, they felt they understood each other even better without the misleading words in between.

Out of the blue, Freddie burst out laughing. Michael startled ash his voice echoed loudly in the tiled room.

'Heh, I can't remember what I did with the bra that were thrown on the stage', he explained, shaking his head.

Now Michael let out a giggle. Freddie looked at him surprised.

'You took them and then you put them on your - _you know_.'

Michael bit his lip and glanced at Freddie, who slapped his hand to his forehead.

'No I didn't!'

'Oh yes you did'.

Michael giggled again.

'And that was the best part of the show?'

'Yeah that was _the best._'

Freddie pouted and shoved him playfully.

'You punk!' Michael tittered, shoving him back.

'Michael, one could take it as an offense.'

'But I haven't laughed like that for _ages_', Michael said defensively.

'Fine', Freddie gave in. 'You can have it, alright.'

Michael lowered his lashes, tilted his head, and suddenly felt a bit shy.

'But I loved all of it. You're an amazing performer.'

'Okay now that's enough.'

'I mean it! Honestly!'

'Well, thank you.'

'You're welcome.'

Freddie massaged his temples and sighed.

'I just don't get it. Tell me this: you really are claiming you don't have anything better to do than to come here to cheer for us, night after night?'

'I'm learning new things from you', Michael said like the answer was self-evident.

'I see', Freddie chuckled. 'Well, what did you learn tonight?'

'How to make use of bras the next time someone throws them at me...'

Freddie frowned. Michael gazed sternly at him.

'Why would I go to live concerts if I could read the same in some book?'

Freddie shrugged.

'Sounds reasonable to me.'

Then he stood up and offered his hand to Michael. Michael looked at him questioningly.

'I've got to take a shower now, darling.'

Michael blushed. What was happening, did he invite him to...?

No, he didn't.

_Darling _though?

Freddie dropped his hand.

'I'll be quick. We can take the same ride.'

Then Freddie turned the lights back on and strode across the room, taking off the white vest he had put on _after _the concert. Michael turned his head away, ashamed of what he was witnessing, took a pair of shades out of his pocket and put them on.

Soon he could hear the water hitting the tile floor somewhere behind the wall. He scrambled to his feet and glanced at the mirror that hung on the wall next to the door.

His face looked worried. His lips formed a tight line and brows were furrowed. For some reason, he was trembling.

When he raised his sunglasses, he saw his eyes... And the lost child they belonged to. Suddenly he got a heavy, sinking feeling in his stomach and placed the shades back onto his nose.

By the time Freddie came back Michael had wrapped a long black scarf around his head. Freddie didn't ask anything but picked up Michael's jacket from the floor and gave it to him.

* * *

Inside the car, atmosphere was icy.

Michael had talked little ever since Freddie came back from the shower and Freddie couldn't figure out what had made the younger man so distant all of a sudden. But after an exhausting routine performance he didn't really mind the silence - even though there definitely _was _some kind of strange tension in the air.

The younger star looked silently out of the window. Freddie doubted if he could see anything through his mirror sunglasses and was sorry he was hiding his beautiful face behind a scarf. 'Maybe it's some kind of weird disguise', he mused. 'I don't see why he should disguise himself from me though. Or anyone else, for that matter.'

'Excuse me, but – what was the address again, Mr. Jackson?' he chauffeur asked in an apologetic tone.

'4641 Hayvenhurst Ave. That's Encino.'

'Okay. Thank you, I'll get you there.'

They zoomed past the bars, nightclubs, restaurants, and discos of Western Los Angeles.

Freddie eyed them longingly: he missed London's nightlife. After four more concerts he would have almost three full weeks off and knew exactly what he was going to do.

Nothing, absolutely _nothing _would keep him away from L.A.

Eventually they arrived at their destination. Michael adviced the chauffeur to pull up in front of the gates. Then he rolled down the side window, waved over at the security tower and one of the guards activated the door-opening system.

When the car was parked in the front yard, Michael jumped out. He thanked the chauffeur heartily, took off the scarf (but left the shades on), and glanced over at one of the windows of the mock Tudor mansion. He looked like he was about to say something but nothing came out at first.

Freddie waited patiently, peeking now and then outside to admire the exquisite view.

The house was being renovated, but scaffolds didn't violate the enchanted spirit that surrounded the estate.

'Erm – Freddie', Michael began timidly.

Freddie pri cked up his ears and looked over at him.

'Do you have anything planned... for tomorrow?'

Freddie was caught off guard.

'Uh - Yes. Why?'

Michael lowered his eyes. Freddie measured him with his eye.

'Nothing special', he answered cautiously.

'Then I'd like to invite you to come visit my home. If you only had the some loose time on your schedule.'

Michael looked him straight in the eye. Freddie was surprised.

'Well, I'm not sure yet. I'll think about it', he said slowly, pondering whether Michael had some ulterior motives or he was simply being polite.

'Please think about it', Michael said.

Was there really a hint of desperation in his voice?

'Good night', Michael went on.

'Good night', Freddie replied in a soft tone.

Michael gave him an alluring smile and slammed the car door shut.

'I think I might need a pint now', Freddie thought to himself and shook his head.


	6. The Prelude

Chapter Six

**THE PRELUDE**

* * *

****Freddie couldn't deny he was rather nervous as he jumped out of the car in front of Michael's mansion the following day.

Michael had sent a servant - Annie - to welcome them and Freddie shook hands with her while Peter - Freddie's personal assistant - stood behind him crunching his teeth. Freddie hated the sound but at the moment he was too preoccupied with other things to comment on it. Besides, he couldn't forget he didn't come here alone which was actually a good thing.

Annie led them inside. From the first look Freddie knew Michael had a very good taste: Every piece of furniture was chosen carefully to fit into the interior of the house.

There were massive mahogany cupboards, polished ebony tables, and enormous porcelain vases in every corner. The walls were covered with paintings and photographs. Quite simply, the house looked almost exactly like the place where Freddie imagined himself living in five years time.

They were left in what looked like a living room. The gold and platinum album certifications as well as an impressive collection of other diplomas were hung on the walls of the room. Freddie could see Peter's eyes widening in awe and couldn't blame him: he felt quite dizzy himself when he thought that the one who had achieved all this was just 22 years old.

After a minute or so they heard footsteps from the corridor and turned around just in time to see Michael enter the room, wearing a casual red tee and jeans. He had a huge smile on his face and shook hands with both of them.

Freddie noticed Michael was quite excited to have them here - for whatever reason - and became a bit worried he might not live up to his expectations. He definitely didn't come here to record anything. In fact, he was here just out of curiosity.

'Oh, I should tear those down', Michael stated annoyed when he saw what Freddie was looking at.

'What?'

'Those awards, gold albums and stuff. I don't wanna feel like I was accomplished or anything because I'm not.'

'Why you keep them there then?' Freddie inquired, bemused.

'Joseph wants me to', Michael replied abruptly.

'Joseph? Who's Joseph?'

'My father', Michael hissed and pulled a face Freddie had never seen before.

'So you keep them on display because your _father_ tells you to?'

'Exactly.'

Michael looked grim. Fortunately an elder woman happened to walk into the room at that very moment and Michael's face lit up immediately. The woman stopped on her tracks as she noticed the guests and greeted them in a little soft voice that reminded Freddie of his own mother:

'Hello. I'm Katherine Jackson, Michael's mother. Nice to meet you.'

She and Freddie shook hands.

'Freddie Mercury. This is a great pleasure indeed.'

'How are you?'

'Never better. And how about, Mrs. Jackson? I must say you look absolutely charming.

Katherine blushed.

'Mum, don't be so shy. He's right', Michael whispered gently and hugged his mother.

'This is my assistant, Mr. Peter Freestone', Freddie went on.

'Mrs. Jackson, how are you?'

'Oh, very good, thank you.'

'I'm pleased to hear that.'

'Mum, is Jan at home? She should come down here.'

'I'm sorry, sweetheart. She said she wouldn't come back until Wednesday.'

'Oh well, then I'll just show you around', Michael said a bit disappointed and beckoned Freddie and Peter to follow him.

First he took them to the garden. He showed them all of his pets (Freddie was astonished to find out Michael had llamas) including the residents of the swan pond.

'I love Tchaikovsky. You know, _The Swan Lake Suite_. It's brilliant. I adore those birds, they're so beautiful creatures. Stunning to look at, _whoo_!'

Freddie chuckled but couldn't but agree.

The tour continued and gradually Freddie grew more and more aware of what this kind of exhaustive presentation on the wonders of the garden meant: Michael really and literally lived within the borders of this estate, voluntarily imprisoned. This was simply his world. And that was something Freddie found hard to understand, because he needed to feel the world around him.

His heart ached when he listened to Michael as he babbled about how the magic of the nature could be found in the flowers and trees and how animals never betrayed him. He felt like he was visiting _The Glass Menagerie_ - for real.

'Now - here's the my home studio.'

Freddie blinked and came back to the present.

He was standing in the middle of a large, soundproof studio room full of all kinds of instruments (mostly different percussion instruments), their cases, music stands, amplifiers, and paper sheets.

Wires crisscrossed the floor. However, some space right in front of the (covered) windows was left empty, apparently so that Michael had room for dancing.

'Here I've done everything.'

'Are you doing now something special?'

'Yeah. A new album. It's going to be better than the last one, I can feel it.'

'Wasn't _Off The Wall_ good enough?'

'No, not at all', Michael stated determinedly. 'I want that new album to be like a brilliant diamond, every side of it must be equally perfect. _Off The Wall _wasn't perfect. I'm dying of thirst.'

'I'm sorry', Peter interrupted. 'I need to use the toilet.'

'Go help yourself', Freddie muttered and Peter left the studio.

Michael fell silent and in an instant Freddie's palms became sweaty and clammy.

He began to examine the electric guitar that stood in the corner. All the time, he felt Michael's eyes on him, observing his every move with rapt attention.

All of a sudden Freddie realized that the door of the recording studio was locked. If Peter came back he couldn't enter unless they opened the door for him.

* * *

He put the guitar carefully back on its stand and turned around. Michael was leaning against the wall a few feet away staring at him. When Freddie cracked a smile, he averted his gaze.

Freddie frowned, decided to leave him alone and instead turned his attention to the grand piano. He walked up to it and stroked the piano lid absent-minded.

'Do you mind if I play something?' he asked after a while.

'No', Michael stated. 'Go ahead.'

Freddie nodded, sat down behind the piano and tentatively played the C Major scale.

It sounded good: the keys were light and responsive. He closed his eyes and to his surprise heard Michael moving toward the empty space.

So he was going to dance.

Freddie composed himself, wondering which piece would fit the situation the best. After a few seconds he got an idea and started.

He didn't play _Queen _but something totally unexpected. Michael's breath was taken away by the first, anxious notes that rang out in E minor. They made him move restlessly and painfully. He dragged his feet heavily along the floor, like he had suddenly lost all his vital energy.

The music painted his world black, adding some dirty hues of green here and there.

It was like poison.

Toward the end he got more and more carried away by the strong feeling he had tried to suppress all too long. Now it took control over him, completely, and possessing him.

Finally he just couldn't take it no more and collapsed to the floor.

Freddie stopped playing immediately and knelt down next to him.

'I'm sorry', he breathed.

Michael was sobbing. He attempted to wipe the tears off but to no avail. The crying simply wouldn't stop.

Freddie watched him alarmed, and put a hand on his shoulder.

Michael looked up at him, his eyes wide and teary.

'I'm sorry', Freddie repeated.

'What piece was that?', Michael whispered weakly.

'It was a prelude by Chopin. In E minor.'

Michael shook his head.

'How can anyone compose a piece like that?' he moaned. 'It's so sad, it hurt so bad...'

Michael trembled.

Freddie automatically wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. Michael didn't resist but even pressed his face against his chest and grabbed the back of his shirt like he feared Freddie would leave him any minute.

But Freddie wasn't going anywhere.

He was shaking too, not only because of Michael's emotional turmoil but also because the scent of Michael filled his nostrils, his senses, his mind... and the body the younger man snuggled against him. His heart began to beat faster when his hand accidentally touched the bare skin on Michael's back, right where his shirt ended. Michael breathed heavily against his chest and Freddie breathed with him.

Michael's body oozed heat. His strong hands clutched his shirt... His beautifully curved eyebrows, long lashes, fluffy hair, the way he leaned on his chest...

Freddie couldn't hold back anymore.

Very carefully, he started to caress Michael's lower back, brushing his fingertips against the warm skin, massaging him gently.

Michael grunted slightly and nestled further into his embrace.

Freddie sniffed his hair and imagined...

'No', a voice in his head snapped. 'You are not going to do that.'

Freddie believed the voice. Hence he just rested his chin on the top of Michael's head and pulled him closer.

Then Michael sighed, squirmed a little and opened his eyes.

For a moment they looked at each other, frozen in place. Freddie was still holding Michael and their faces were only inches away. Both gulped and quivered.

This was something entirely new, and suddenly the intimacy of the situation started to bother Michael. He shook himself back to his senses, pulled away from Freddie and looked around - and realized that the red light above the doorway was flashing.

He stood up and dusted his clothes.

'Peter's back', he muttered and strode to the office to let Peter in.

'Were you recording already?' Peter - who had waited behind the door for some time - asked flatly.

'No, not yet', Freddie snapped.

'Not _yet?_ Oh bother...'

'Peter', Freddie warned.

He felt a headache coming on and Peter's sharp voice irritated him even more than usually.

'I'm sorry. But Freddie - we should leave soon.'

'What's the time?'

'Seven o'clock.'

'Oh, damn. Phoebe darling, could you please go and call a taxi for us?'

'No, Dean will drive you to the hotel', Michael broke in. 'I go tell him to get ready.'

Freddie gave him a stern look.

'Thanks for your concern, Michael, but I can actually afford a taxi drive.'

'You're my guest. Please.'

Freddie smiled.

'Okay then. Phoebe, you go.'

'I can go', Michael offered.

'No, Phoebe - '

He gave Peter a look and he nodded. Michael told him where the garages were and then he disappeared into the corridor.

'Are you okay?' Freddie asked Michael when Peter was gone.

'Yeah, I'm okay', Michael answered. 'I'm so sorry for... that.'

'No, no, no. It's alright. It didn't bother me at all. Besides, _that's _your gift, Michael. You should be proud of it. That's why people love you... because, because you are like that.'

'Like _what?_' Michael laughed. 'Oh yes, I'm so _sensitive._'

'No, I mean that you _feel_ the music. When you dance, you're like a force of nature, I've never seen anything quite like that.'

'Michael's got the Force!'

'I was serious.'

Michael continued to giggle. Freddie tried to be angry at him but couldn't help chuckling at his silliness.

'We should get out of here', Freddie suggested.

The white sterile walls made him feel slightly claustrophobic.

'You want go out? A great idea', Michael agreed and they moved into the garden.

Michael sat down at the edge of the fountain and washed his hands in the bright water. Freddie watched him mesmerized.

Michael's smooth, dark skin shone beautifully and light patterns danced on it.

There was something very rare in him, like he had lived for thousands of years.

And still he was merely a child...

'I was just wondering... if you would like to... to duet with me some day', Michael blurted all of a sudden. 'Or your band and me.'

Michael dried his hands on his jeans.

'A duet?' Freddie questioned, disappointed. 'Well... I guess.'

'That would be great', Michael triumphed and smiled mysteriously.

Freddie felt uncomfortable.

So this was it.

_A duet. _

Of course he wanted to duet with Michael but - somehow he didn't want to think about his career, or _Queen_, or even Michael Jackson as a performer at the moment... That was his work. Now he wasn't the lead singer of_Queen _but Freddie Mercury.

Rather, Farrokh Bulsara.

He was relieved when Peter appeared in the doorway, mouthing that the car was already waiting for them in front of the garages.

'I should leave now', Freddie stated.

'So soon? Are you sure?' Michael asked sadly. His eyes dimmed and Freddie could almost see how the iron curtain fell between them.

'Well, I'll call ya later', Michael promised when Freddie stood up.

Freddie took a long last look at Michael before he followed Peter inside.

Michael didn't even raise his eyes from the water.

Five minutes later Annie - a servant - came up to him to inform the guests had left.


	7. A Towel and a Key

Chapter Seven

**A TOWEL AND A KEY**

* * *

Freddie turned his collar up against the biting winds and pulled a lighter out of his chest pocket. With trembling hands he lit up a cigarette. Loud disco music poured onto the street from the open doors of a nightclub, making his head throb. So - as soon as he had stuffed the lighter back into his pocket - he started to walk on with rapid strides.

Tonight he didn't want to be recognized, so he had hid his face behind a pair of dark shades and avoided looking directly at anyone. This was his well-deserved chance to forget the grueling tour schedule and he was damn sure going to make the most out of it.

He passed by the inviting neon lights and happy partygoers. However, he had little interest in them at the moment: It was 6 o'clock on a Thursday evening and if he wanted to party, he could always come back later. Right now, he needed something else.

He turned left at the corner of a small Chinese restaurant and ended up in a narrow blind alley full of overflowing carbage cans. He walked past a row of sinister-looking oaken doors which led to seedy underground pubs. People didn't really come here by accident. The place didn't appear interesting in any particular way - unless you knew what you were looking for.

And Freddie knew exactly what he was looking for.

He had the address written on the back of an old shop receipt, but he didn't even need it. He knew the route by heart. He had to walk through _that_ gateway and go to _that_ door. He rang the doorbell - and immediately heard a faint buzz that told him the door had opened.

After crushing the cigarette stub with his shoe, Freddie stepped in and closed the door after him.

The man sitting behind the reception desk nodded at him approvingly when he entered the lobby.

'Good evening, Mr. Mercury', he greeted and gave Freddie a towel and a key.

Freddie thanked and moved on to the locker room.

Several heads turned as he entered the room and walked over to his locker. As nonchalantly and quickly as possible, Freddie took off his shades and clothes, shoved them into the locker, locked the locker, and wrapped the blue tower around his waist.

Not until then he became aware of someone standing besides him and raised his gaze.

'Freddie', a handsome, dark-skinned youngster in his twenties twittered.

'Andy', Freddie stated. 'I just arrived.'

'I see. Wanna shower first?'

'Yeah, I could do with that.'

The water in the shower was warm and soon the small stall was full of steam.

Andy soaped Freddie's bare chest. His fingers felt so good rubbing his skin...

Freddie closed his eyes and let his mind wander.

'Where are you?' Andy asked straight away and ran his hands down Freddie's sides.

'I'm right here', Freddie lied but didn't open his eyes.

'No, you're not. Not do you have to be', Andy whispered. 'Tell me: who am I now? Who do you want me to be?'

Freddie swallowed the lump that threatened to rise in his throat. Andy's hands stayed on his waist.

'I'm glad you came back. But you don't have to pretend you were with me, use your imagination. That's what this is all about.'

Freddie nodded and flinched as he felt Andy's lips on his collarbone.

Very carefully, he peered at Andy through his half-open eyelids. The boy was beautiful, with his black curls, enticing hazel eyes, dark eyebrows, and olive skin...

But yet still something was missing.

He already knew how this evening was going to end: they'd kiss, spend some time in a Jacuzzi, go upstairs or grab a taxi to some hotel and f*ck. In the end, he would feel nothing, absolutely nothing... No satisfaction whatsoever.

However, there was nothing he could do about it: he needed this. Otherwise he would have become crazy.

Andy was now nibbling his earlobe and Freddie squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He wanted to imagine, he wanted it to be true... But at the same time he was ashamed of what ran through his mind every time Andy touched him.

'Oh!' he gasped all of a sudden, when a fine set of fingers did something totally unexpected.

Andy laughed merrily and stroked Freddie's forehead.

'I think we'll skip the Jacuzzi today', he joked, his voice low and husky.

'So you think that's necessary?' Freddie asked, his voice wavering a bit.

'Absolutely', Andy murmured in response and took his hand.

Half a hour later, Freddie laid on the bed of his hotel room, next to Andy, listening to him as he told funny stories about his family members.

Freddie didn't concentrate at all on what he was saying but _how _he said it... Because Andy's voice was very calming, soothing, and soft and reminded him of something else.

His eyes shut, Freddie could drift away, dream of all kinds of things...

And when Andy laughed, he was in Heaven, because at those moments his voice was accompanied a bright and very clear one.

_'Hee - hee!'_


	8. And the Odds are

Chapter Eight

**AND THE ODDS ARE...**

* * *

****'Good to see you for a change', Brooke said emphatically when Michael sat down at the opposite end of the table.

The restaurant was half-full. Fortunately, most of the customers were sitting at the windows so that the table closest to the giant aquarium tank had been left unoccupied. Fortunately... Because Brooke knew that the fish were the very only reason Michael wanted to dine here.

And she was totally right: As soon as Michael had seated himself comfortably and checked that the fake moustache were still in place (the beard didn't work very well with forks), his eyes glued on a tiny neon tetra that was trying to escape from a nasty-looking cat fish.

Brooke had to cough twice to get his attention. Even then, Michael couldn't stop following the submarine drama but kept stealing glances at the two fish.

'How are you?' Brooke asked patiently.

'How am I? Great! How about you?' Michael asked and gasped, when the cat fish finally managed to corner his prey.

Brooke scowled at him.

'I'm Fine', she muttered. 'What have you been doing lately? Recording? Rehearsing? I haven't heard of you in like five days or so.'

Michael didn't give an answer.

'Dancing? Singing? What?'

'I, uhm... Yeah. I've been dancing a lot.'

'Right. But I tried to call you. Have you even seen your mum? 'Cause she said you weren't at home.'

Finally Michael tore his eyes off the two fish and looked at Brooke.

'That's true', he confessed, sounding guilty. 'And no, I didn't tell her.'

'I was just so worried, Michael. You know... I really do care about you.'

Michael's eyes twinkled and he put his hand on Brooke's. Brooke took a deep breath.

'I'm sorry Brooke. Really, I am. It's just - you know how I am like? When I get something in my head... It's like _whoosh_.'

'Yeah, I know', Brooke sighed. 'But this is not about me. You _live _with your mum. And she loves you very, very much. I think she has the right to know whether you are alive or not.'

'You're right, honey.'

Brooke giggled at the pet name. Michael smiled shyly.

'Yeah... But lets talk about something else for a change', he suggested. 'You have clearly done something to your hair, girl.'

Brooke rolled her eyes. So this was the alternative topic.

_At least he had called her honey!_

'I got a new cut... About a month ago. Do you like it?

'Oh, I see. But it's very... funky?'

Both burst out laughing.

Michael winked at Brooke and thanked the waiter who placed a glass of orange juice next to his plate. The waiter gave him a rather strange look in return and walked back to the kitchen without uttering a word.

Michael lifted his eyebrows at Brooke.

'Please, tell me if I happen to have an extra eye.'

'Very funny', Brooke stated.

'What a schmuck! But whatever... How's it going with the filming by the way?'

'Well... You know what? I think one super has a crush on me.'

Brooke giggled in a very girly way and looked at Michael challengingly through her long lashes.

'Oh who's that?' Michael asked baffled, not quite sure how he was supposed to react. 'Is he cute?'

'Well, 'cute' is not the word I'd use... I don't know his name, but he is like 45 and very big - and he's _always_staring at my butt.'

Michael had just sipped from his juice and almost choked at the last word.

'How disgusting!' he stated compassionately, wiping the juice off his chin with a napkin. 'Why would he want to stare at your... backside?'

'I don't know, you tell me.'

'You're so much younger than him and everything. He should know better than that.'

'Michael, men don't think that way.'

'Excuse me!' Michael protested. 'I _am_ a man.'

'Well, you're not like other guys', Brooke purred and blushed when Michael brought her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly.

Michael grinned at her reaction.

They went on talking like this for an hour, until they were finished with eating. When the waiter came back to give Michael the change, he scrutinized him a very suspicious look on his face and at last dared to pose the question he had apparently been mulling over in his head for the last 60 minutes or so:

'Excuse me for asking this but - you aren't Marlon Jackson in any way?'

Michael gaped at him for a moment.

Then he shook his head.

'I'm afraid I'm not', he replied in his most serious tone. 'I've been told I look like him though.'

'Oh, okay. Sorry for the intrusion. Have a good evening, both of you', the waiter spluttered and dropped into an empty glass the coins Michael had refused to take back and rushed away.

'Again, very close', Brooke stated worried when he was out of earshot.

'And he wasn't even the brightest lamp on the tree', Michael stated, half-serious.

'Come on, I don't like it here. Lets get out.'

It was a warm July evening so strolling along the boulevard under full-grown palm trees and glowing sky was like a scene from a fairy tale. They held hands and now and then shared a brief, loving kiss.

Brooke couldn't remember ever being that happy. And it was contagious: At one point Michael was so high from the freedom that he suddenly broke into a song and Brooke had clamp her hand over his mouth to silence him.

'You fool', she scolded. 'Someone might hear you.'

'Come on, girl', Michael replied defiantly. 'What if I want to be me?'

'You _are _you, Michael. Nothing will change that. You are no one else but you', she whispered and Michael didn't argue back anymore.

They arrived at a crossroads and turned into a small, shady alley. An enormous skyscraper reached for the clouds on their left side. Its silhouette against the dark blue sky was incredibly beautiful and terrifying at the same time. They stopped to admire the sight for a moment. Then Brooke leaned closer to Michael and whispered in his ear:

'Michael, I want to say this now because this is something I just realized and I want you to know this. I think that I'm love with you.'

A warm feeling – like a light – filled Michael from head to toe and he shuddered.

_Someone loved him!_

Moved, he brushed Brooke's cheek with his fingers. Brooke's smile faltered a bit like she had suddenly lost her confidence.

'You don't have to say it back', she said, her voice slightly breaking.

Michael bit his lip and rubbed his eyes. He knew what Brooke wanted to hear, but he didn't know what he felt.

Was it love he felt for Brooke? If it was, what kind of love? Because he wasn't going to say anything he didn't genuinely mean.

Thus he didn't say anything but let his fingers tell Brooke he really cared about her but was no yet ready to confess anything.

Brooke nodded.

She understood.

'My girlfriend', Michael hummed softly and slid his hands around her waist.

But just when he was about to kiss her, he heard a loud BAM and turned to look in the direction of the noise.

A door had been opened a few feet from them and two men stumbled out in great hurry. The man who came out first tried to run away from the other man, but didn't get very far until he was caught and slammed against the brick wall.

It took a moment for Michael to realize what the two men were doing, and when he did, his eyes widened in shock and he let go of Brooke, paralyzed by the sight.

The two men, however, kept on making out, oblivious to the fact they were being watched.

'Oh, oh, oh', the other man panted between the kisses, clearly enjoying the treatment. 'Did you remember to call a cab?'

'Of course I did, Andy. But you talk way too much.'

Michael's knees gave in.

No this couldn't be real.

Never in life.

The man who was pinning the other man against the wall and kissing him hungrily... was _Freddie._

* * *

The men hadn't noticed them yet - and probably wouldn't: they seemed to have better things to do. That's why Brooke, who saw Michael's distress and understood where it stemmed from, decided to take him away as soon as possible and half-carried half-dragged him back to the street and into a telephone booth.

Once inside, Michael collapsed to the floor, exhausted. Brooke asked him whether he wanted to go home by taxi or if she should call John instead, but he just stared at her a puzzled and lost look on his face.

'I just can't believe it', he whispered to himself. 'He's a queer. I never knew that.'

He sounded disgusted.

Brooke didn't say anything but pulled out her wallet and deposited a couple of coins into the pay phone.

'Tell me: did you know about this?'

'Michael, it's not that big of a deal', Brooke answered, irritated, because her new shoes rubbed her heels.

'It is not?' Michael questioned.

'Michael, please. Could you be quiet, just for a sec.'

Michael nodded grimly and Brooke made the call.

Five minutes later they were on their way back to Encino.

Michael was restless, changed his position all the time, scratched his legs, and gnawed his fingernails. Now and then the bemused taxi driver would glance in the rearview mirror to check up on what he was doing.

Finally Brooke nudged him with her elbow to make him stop.

'Ouch!' Michael screeched.

Brooke gave him a warning look.

Michael returned the glare. Then he shrugged, exasperated, and turned away.

'What a way to end an evening', he complained under his breath.

'Michael...'

'Who knows how many people have seen him like that... It's sick.'

Brooke saw the taxi driver was gripping the wheel, his knuckles white. It was clear he was eavesdropping on them.

'Michael, not here' she muttered in a lower voice.

'It's bad, Brooke', Michael went on undisturbed. 'You don't understand how bad it is. Anyone could have seen him - and maybe someone already did. Or what if that guy lets it slip to the press - '

'Whatever!' Brooke snapped. 'But Michael, please - this is not the right time to have this conversation. We can continue this later.'

Michael gritted his teeth and fell silent.

But his mind didn't.

It hadn't been but three of four days since that man stood in his living room.

He had cherished the memory, because the moment they shared in the recording studio was truly something wonderful - there had been real magic in the air. There had been a real connection between them. Things like that didn't happen all too often - actually Michael had never felt anything quite like it.

It had been cosmic.

But now that Michael knew what made Freddie react that way, he felt disappointed.

Rather, he felt sick.

'Michael, I'm going to come over. Is that okay?'

Michael nodded absent-minded and realized Brooke had already paid for the ride. The cab sped away.

They went straight into his room, closed the door, and settled themselves comfortably on Michael leather couch. Brooke put her hand on his knee and massaged it.

'Are you still angry?' she asked quietly.

Michael frowned.

'Do I look like I was?'

'Yes you do.'

'Well, I'm not. After all, it's not my business.'

'But you react quite strongly.'

'What do you mean?'

Brooke looked at him searchingly.

'It's almost like you were personally offended by it.'

'Offended? I'm not offended, I'm... Oh, forget it.'

'No I won't forget about this. It's important. I know it's your religion but... have you ever really known anyonewho was homosexual?'

Michael flinched at the word.

'Have I ever known anyone who was like that?' he stammered out. 'Of course I have. Of course. But I can't see what it has to do with all this.'

'It has everything to do with this', Brooke said sternly. 'Because I've friends who are like that and I love them dearly. I didn't know you had a problem with it.'

'I don't have a problem with it', Michael snarled.

'Oh really? Come on, Michael, grow up.'

'Grow up?' Michael screamed and shot up from the couch. 'What am I supposed to say then? That I wished it was me he was kissing? I said I don't have a problem with it and if I said I don't have a problem with it it means that I don't have a problem with it. Period.'

'Michael, listen - listen to me. I had a friend, his name was Jamie. And guess what? This Jamie, he had a boyfriend whom he took with him wherever he went. They were like everyone else: loving, beautiful people. They just happened to fall in love with each other, and that was it. Does it sound wrong to you?'

'I don't get your point', Michael sighed. 'You make me sound like an idiot.'

'Because you are acting like one.'

'No, it isn't wrong to love', Michael snapped, 'but, you know, it's not natural to be with a man like that. It's lust, not love.'

'But does it harm anyone?'

'Yes, it does. It does harm _me_. It's a perversion. And it's against God's will.'

Brooke narrowed her eyes.

'You don't know what you're talking about, Michael. You're prejudiced.'

'I am _not_ prejudiced.'

'Michael - believe or not - you are', Brooke said in a tired voice. 'You don't let something as trivial as sexuality come between you and other people if you want to live a normal life. Because if you do, you are going to be a very, very lonely man. You do like Freddie, don't you?'

'Not _that_ much', Michael chuckled.

'I'm serious.'

Michael pouted his lips. Brooke got up, walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him.

'No one lives in accordance with the Bible. That's just how it is. And guess what: you've met Freddie once. That shouldn't make you any harm.'

Michael cringed.

If she just knew he much Freddie meant to him. But he wasn't going to tell her, it would only make things more complicated.

So he stayed quiet and closed his eyes.

He saw the scene again, heard that young man moaning in passion, grunting, whimpering, gasping air... And saw Freddie kissing him, fervently, like something was eating him up inside.

Who was that young man? Why he was with Freddie?

And even more important question: Was Freddie in love with him?

No, no, no, no. He couldn't.

It was impossible.

'Michael', Brooke called quietly.

'Uh - huh?'

'You okay?'

Michael nodded and even broke a little smile.

'Good. Now promise me something.'

Michael looked at her questioningly.

'If you ever see him again promise me you'll give him another chance. That you don't treat him any different because of this.'

Michael blinked.

'It's really important', Brooke insisted. 'Actually I think you should get to know him better, because I'm sure you two could come up with some brilliant stuff together.'

Michael shrugged.

'Promise me.'

'I promise. But I'm not sure if I'll ever see him again.'

'Your promise is enough', Brooke stated, satisfied with the answer, and kissed him again.


	9. Down to the Ground (or even Lower?)

Chapter Nine

**DOWN TO THE GROUND (OR EVEN LOWER...?)**

* * *

****The interviewer looked like loose-skinned Robin Gibb. There would have been nothing wrong with that... unless she hadn't been a woman.

Her yellowish teeth shone like the surface of a dirty sink, and not even a five-year-old nearsighted child could have mistaken the neon-colored nylon braids that hang on both sides of her face for real hair.

Even still, it wasn't her looks that disgusted Michael the most, but her questions, which were both extremely annoying and intrusive.

'_Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough_ resembles your former hit song _Shake Your Body (Down To The Ground)_ a lot. What do you think about this? Are you repeating yourself? Have you run out of ideas?'

'Pardon?' Michael said, pretending he hadn't heard the questions over the radio playing in the background. In reality, he just wanted to waste as much time as possible answering each question.

'Are these two tracks just two different versions of a same song?' the witch went on unfazed.

'What songs?'

'Your hit single _Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough_ and _Shake Your Body Down (To The Ground)_ by _The Jackson 5_?'

'Yes?'

'Are they the same song?'

'Are they the same song? No, they're two different songs', Michael replied and flashed her a sweet smile.

'But they sound a lot alike.'

'Uhm - I've written both, so...'

'I see', the female _Bee Gee_ wannabe muttered in a defeated tone. 'So are you going to stay in the group?'

'Yes.'

'In that case... Are you going to join _the Jacksons_ on a tour now that the new album is out?'

'We are going to tour in the future, yes.'

'But since _Off The Wall_ has been highly successful, it almost seems like you were going to...'

'I know, I know. But we are a group and that's it. They're my brothers', Michael explained patiently and glanced at the wall clock.

_Five minutes left._

He sighed frustrated, closed his eyes for a moment, and tried to concentrate on the calming music that poured out of the speakers.

_"To be there and everywhere, here, there and everywhere..."_

But the witch would not let him off that easily.

'Are you planning to do more solo projects then?'

'Huh?'

'I mean - after this breakthrough, are you going to do more solo albums, even if you stayed in the group?'

'Only God knows the answer to that', Michael stated.

'Are you working on something right now?'

'I - I have quite a few projects going on... I'm working all the time, I never stop creating. And when I write music, I don't know whether it's going to be on a solo album or on _The Jacksons_ album, I just...'

Michael's voice trailed off as his ears caught the first chords of a new song.

'Why now?' he cursed inwardly. 'Like I didn't have enough trouble already.'

But no matter how hard he tried to ignore the catchy beat of _Don't Stop Me Now_, he couldn't: Freddie's voice simply pervaded his mind. Once again all his efforts to forget the embarrassing events from the past week were useless.

It didn't really help that Freddie and _Queen_ seemed to be everywhere nowadays.

Michael could now see he had over-reacted on the Thursday night. Of course it had been a shocking way to find out about Freddie's "true self" but on the other hand - it wasn't like there was anything new under the sun. He knew he had all kind of fans from all age groups, races, backgrounds, social classes... There were people like Freddie all around him, and he hadn't cared that much before.

So why should he start now?

'It's quite obvious that James Brown is your greatest inspiration. Have you come up with any moves by yourself?'

'Yes, I love to dance.'

It wouldn't affect him, if he just kept a safe distance.

'What do you think about Diana Ross?'

'She's amazing, I truly love her... She's a very good friend of mine.'

The problem was he really liked Freddie, both as an artist and as a person. And when he thought about it... He came to the conclusion that he wanted to meet him again and maybe even work with him.

Which meant that he should take a _risk_, but he was ready to take it.

'What about your father then, he isn't managing you anymore is he?'

'Hmm?'

'Are you two - '

'Sorry the time is up', Evan - Michael's new assistant - interrupted and tapped his watch.

Michael sighed in relief.

The witch stood up and brushed her skirt down, an annoyed expression spreading across her face.

'Well, thank you', she muttered and waited until Michael got up before shaking hands with him.

'We'll call you, when this comes out.'

'Okay. You're welcome', Michael muttered, gave her a little smile, and walked through the door Evan held open for him.

Five minutes later when Michael was watching the rain outside the car window and half-heartedly listening to Evan's and John's casual conversation, Freddie came into his thoughts again.

Now he remembered that he had promised to call Freddie later.

However, what it meant by "later" was his to decide. He could call him in a week, in a month, in a year... Because there was no reason to rush into things. He had to think about the consequences.

He had to be extra-careful with this so that _he _wouldn't end up being labeled as a pervert himself...

Michael cringed.

'Where did that come from?' he thought, uneasy. 'I don't have a problem with this. I don't care, I really don't care.'

Maybe it just was he was already been harassed with this kind of allegations - like the ridiculous Clifton Davis story. People genuinely believed he would go through a sex change and marry him, no matter how outrageous the lie was.

So maybe he wasn't overdoing it at all when he thought about the possible consequences. Freddie wasn't like anyone else: the press took a great interest in him, too, and if they ever found out about this... they'd rip both him and everyone around him to pieces.

The car ride to Encino didn't last long, and soon Michael was back in his own room. As the very first thing he checked his phone and saw that the voicemail light was indeed blinking. He had got 12 messages, most of which were left by hoarse-voiced, opportunistic journalists. However, the last message was from Ron Weisner - one the two managers he had replaced Joseph with - who asked Michael to call him as soon as he got back home.

'Ron Weisner', the familiar deep bass voice answered after one ring.

'Hey, Ron - this is Michael.'

'Oh yes, I did call you half a hour ago', Ron stated and then told Michael about a tempting sponsorship proposal from a major company and explained Michael the conditions of the contract he had signed with_Super Channel_ the other day.

Michael was satisfied. Things seemed to go very well - especially he was pleased with the _Super Channel_contract, which was very advantageous for him indeed.

'Thank you very much, Ron. These are great news, great news. Thank you so much.'

'That's just my job, Michael.'

_God bless him._

'So - how did that interview go?'

'How did that interview go? Well...' Michael said slowly and attempted to decide whether the interview had just gone poorly or if it had been a total disaster.

'Not that well', he phrased carefully. 'Remember this: I'll never, ever give another interview to that woman, Martha Lewis or what was her name again.'

'I will keep that in mind', Ron chuckled. 'Anything else?'

An interesting question.

Did he have anything else to say?

'Not really.'

'Alright. By the way - for your information - Mick Jagger called me in the morning.'

'Oh he did?' Michael asked surprised.

'Yes. He was quite interested in collaborating with you... I presume you've discussed with him about this?'

'Yes I have.'

'Are _you_ interested?'

'Uhm... I could be.'

'Wasn't this what you wanted to do next? Duets?'

Michael blushed.

_Geez!_

'With big names', Michael elaborated.

'Right Okay, do you have someone else in mind then?'

'Well, now that you asked... This one day I went to a _Queen_ concert and I was really impressed by what they did.'

'_Queen?_'

'Yeah.'

'_Queen_ or Freddie Mercury?'

Michael gulped.

'Both.'

'Do you want me to contact their manager or would you like to do it yourself?'

'Actually, I was thinking... Uh... Could you try to get me Freddie Mercury's phone number?'

'Freddie Mercury's? Just his?' Ron asked bemused.

'Yes.'

'Well, I can try... I'll call you back in a minute.'

Michael thanked and hang up.

Did he actually just say that? It had been so easy, like he had planned it in advance.

Two minutes later the phone rang and Michael's heart jumped into his throat. He lifted the handset slowly and took a deep breath.

'Hi.'

'Michael - it's me again. So - their manager, Jim Beach, told me that Freddie still resides in L.A. and gave me the name of his hotel. "Four Seasons". And here's the phone number...'

Michael asked Weisner to hold on, took a pen and a piece of paper and wrote the phone number down with trembling fingers. He asked Ron to repeat it a few times until he could be sure he had got it right.

Then he thanked him, ended the call and took the paper in his hand.

_Here it was._

He had Freddie's number now.

Should he call him or...?

'He may still be in Los Angeles, but who knows for how long', Michael reasoned. 'This is a real good opportunity to get to know him.'

'But you already know how he is', a little voice in his head reminded him. 'Remember who he is.'

'He's a great artist. I really want to do this. Who he sleeps with has nothing to do with music, _nothing._'

'You can always call him later', the voice insisted. 'Think about the consequences - the _consequences_, Michael...'

But it was too late - for Michael had already picked up the handset and dialed the number.

A young female receptionist answered the phone in a soothing, velvety voice, and connected the call to Freddie's room immediately.

It didn't take long until the call was picked up on the other end of the line.

'Hullo?'

Michael startled.

'Hey, who's there?'

For a moment Michael hesitated, but then got back to his senses.

After all, this was a business matter, nothing else.

So Michael gathered all his courage, cleared his throat and whispered his name.

'Oh - Michael?'

Silence.

'This is a surprise, I - I guess I wasn't expecting... Thank you for the last, by the way.'

'You're welcome', Michael gulped.

He was excited to hear Freddie's voice again, but grew more nervous when he remembered the last time he heard it.

Was this really the same man?

'I - Erm - How are you?'

'I'm fine. How are you?'

'I'm good, thanks.'

Michael's hands were getting cold and sweaty. He really had no idea how to get to the point. What if Freddie didn't like the idea of a duet at all? What if he didn't like Michael to start with, if he just wanted to please him...?

Or even worse - what if he liked him _too much?_

'Uhm, Mr. Mercury...'

'Oh come on, Michael', Freddie moaned. 'I thought we were over that.'

'Uh - yeah. I was just thinking about that duet thing, and I was wondering... How long are you going to stay here?'

'In LA? About two weeks from now on. Why?'

'I was just wondering... ', Michael stammered, 'if you... If you would like to pay me another visit or - if we could meet somewhere else and discuss that duet project of ours. I mean - you still want to duet with me, right?'

'I'd love to', Freddie exclaimed.

Michael was relieved Freddie couldn't see his face.

'That's great. Do you have any free time this week or...?'

'What about tonight?'

Michael cringed.

'Wow, I - uh - I... I don't know, I really don't know... Isn't it too soon...?'

'I don't think so', Freddie stated nonchalantly. 'I've an evening off. Not a lot to do. What do you think? Or do you have something planned?'

'Erm...'

'Well, if you have nothing, you can always come here and have a talk. Me and Peter were just going to watch a movie and I was going to let my ass loose and that's about it. But I guess my remaining two brain cells would do with some action for a change.'

'It seems to be so easy for him', Michael thought, jealous. 'There he is: good-natured, relaxed, funny.

Why can't _I_ be like that?

'I'm not sure', he said aloud, undecided.

'Well, think about that. My room number is 6501 in case you change your mind.'

Then he started telling Michael about some piano recital he had been listening to and they went on talking about music and movies for over a hour. However, finally Freddie had to go answer the door (apparently it was Peter) but didn't forget to renew his invitation before hanging up.

Michael stood still for a long time clutching the handset.

He was so confused. Half of him wanted to go... But the other half was in shock of what he had just done.

'Have you already forgotten what kind of person he is? Do you really want to get into this mess?' his inner chipmunk squealed.

Michael cursed, placed the handset back into the cradle and covered his face with his hands.

How stupid could he be?


	10. Too Much of Something Is Bad Enough

Chapter Ten

**TOO MUCH OF SOMETHING IS BAD ENOUGH**

* * *

****'Do you want peanuts, sir?' Peter asked and threw a bag of peanuts in Freddie's lap.

Freddie declined politely, picked the bag up, and gave it back to Peter.

'Well, in that case, sir... I guess I'll just help myself', Peter stated nonchalantly, tore the bag open, took out a handful of salty nuts, and tossed the half-empty package on the night table.

They were laying on the satin-sheeted double bed in Freddie's royal hotel suite watching an episode of a new TV show _Fridays_. Freddie had no interest in the show whatsoever, but Peter really seemed to liked it; Every now and then he would burst into uncontrollable laughter and Freddie would smile and frown at him simultaneously.

Because Peter was a moron. A dear moron, maybe, but moron nevertheless.

Well, a moron he couldn't have lived without.

'No Phoebe', Freddie groaned, when Peter tried to smuggle some peanuts into his hand. 'I said _no_.'

'Freddie, dear - I can clearly see you could do with some nuts...'

Freddie scowled at him.

'...in a nice, fresh package, perhaps.'

'Ha, ha. _Very_ funny.'

The younger man's smug grin annoyed Freddie greatly so he decided to tease him a little.

'What a generous offer. I didn't expect that from you', he whispered in his ear and put his hand boldly on Peter's thigh.

Then Freddie watched satisfied how his assistant visibly paled and moved a little bit closer to the edge of the bed.

'Don't worry, darling', he continued in a mock-seductive voice and withdrew his hand. 'I can wait.'

'If Mr. Queen just got his nuts from someplace else', Peter muttered and placed the peanut bag on his belly so that the opening was facing him. 'We do not accept that currency here.'

Freddie pulled a face, then suddenly smiled slyly, grabbed the peanut bag - and emptied it into his mouth.

After the robbery he winked at Peter, who looked absolutely stunned and had already opened his mouth ready to express his disapproval of this kind of behavior, when the door was knocked.

'Eventually!' Peter exclaimed and climbed from the bed.

The back of Freddie's neck stiffened and his heart leaped up as he thought who might be standing behind the door.

But he let out the breath he had been holding as soon as Peter cracked the door open: it was just room service who brought his assistant his daily 24-ounce bottle of Firefly vodka.

'Here you are, sir', Peter said after he had thanked the servant and closed the door. 'You may open it.'

Freddie accepted the offer gratefully and uncorked the bottle, taking a long swig of it.

He let the strong liquid burn his throat and swallowed. He could feel Peter's eyes on him all the way.

'Maybe it's that bad already', he mused sadly and closed his eyes to savor the bitter taste of the drink. 'He sees it, Andy sees it... Everyone sees it._ Bloody brilliant._'

'Could you leave me something, please', Peter pleaded, half-serious. '_Calf_.'

Freddie sighed and handed the bottle back to him. Then he glanced at the TV screen and saw the final credits of the _Fridays_ rolling across the screen.

'Lets watch the movie now. Put the tape in, Phoebe, I'll go wash my hands.'

He was in the bathroom, wiping his face with a towel when the door was knocked again.

He heard Peter opening the door and talking to someone.

Then the door was closed.

As Freddie exited the bathroom, he accidentally hit Peter with the door and was about apologize, when he noticed his ashen face.

Alarmed, he looked over his shoulder at the door and startled as he saw a dark figure - literally black from head to toe - standing in the hallway, staring at him.

'Is it okay if I come in?' the little voice asked from behind the scarf that covered the figure's face and Freddie - who recognized the voice immediately - nodded bemused.

He watched amazed how Michael stripped off his disguise, layer by layer, until he was only wearing a casul pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt.

He looked absolutely terrified, and Freddie could tell it had taken all his courage just to come here on his own and knock the door.

'Um - you're welcome', Freddie mumbled to break the uncomfortable silence and asked Michael to come inside.

He indeed took a few staggering steps from the doorway, but when Freddie gestured for him to sit down on the bed, next to Peter, he stopped in his tracks and froze.

Peter looked at Freddie questioningly. But Freddie only frowned at him, silently telling him to keep his mouth shut and then turned back to Michael, who had - however - disappeared from his side and sat now curled up in the corner of the coach that stood on the other side of the room.

'I like this suite a lot', he said when he saw both Freddie and Peter were gazing at him. 'Very nice.'

He felt more confident now that he had found himself a sheltered place to sit and looked around in awe.

The interior of the room was very tasteful. Everything was made of expensive materials and smelt new and fresh, like the room had just went through an extensive renovation. Especially Michael liked the golden moulding that ran around the ceiling and reminded him of the palace of the Sun King.

'Thank you', Freddie mumbled.

Suddenly Michael remembered where he was and what he had come here for and shuddered.

'Uhm, I just wanted to come - I wanted to - uhm, what were you guys up to before I came?' he asked nervously, chickening out.

'Watching TV', Peter blurted before Freddie could stop him. 'And we were about to watch a movie.'

'Oh, I _love_ movies', Michael said and smiled shyly. 'What movie were you going to watch?'

'_Psycho_.'

Michael's eyes widened.

'But it's so _scary_!' he said apprehensively. 'I've only watched the first fifteen minutes and they scared the hell out of me.'

Freddie laughed.

'That's the very point of it, Michael', he sneered. 'It's a horror movie, alright.'

'I _do_ love horror movies.'

'Yeah, looks like it', Freddie mocked.

'Okay, lets watch it then', Michael threw back boastfully. 'I'll show ya.'

Freddie was slightly taken aback by this response, but gave Michael an approving smile nevertheless. Peter - who had been waiting impatiently for the conversation to end - pressed the "play" button of the VHS player and turned off the lights.

Michael shivered.

'Oh God', he thought, already regretting his outburst. 'What made me say that? I'm just gonna embarrass myself.'

But - it was too late to turn back.

In the beginning, everything went quite well though. Michael almost felt how he was sucked into the story and the sinister atmosphere intensified all the time, making his stomach tighten in excitement.

Then the infamous shower scene kicked in.

Instinctively Michael covered his eyes - which was a mistake, because he could still hear the disturbing background music. When it faded away, just for a moment, he risked a peek at the screen through his parted ringers - only to see the shadow of the murderer creeping up behind the woman.

Suddenly a cold hand landed on his shoulder and he almost spat his heart out, screaming in unison with the dying woman.

He twirled around, bewildered.

And there was Freddie Mercury sitting behind him on the couch, laughing mercilessly at his distress.

'You devil!' Michael screeched and punched the older man in the chest. 'That was not a nice thing to do. _Not funny_.'

'I'm sorry!' Freddie said, but didn't look sorry at all. 'You just didn't look scared enough.'

'Oh, I didn't?' Michael asked, not sure if he should believe him or not. 'How come?'

'You didn't even scream.'

'Well, I was too terrified to make _any_ kind of noise', he joked and cracked a little smile which Freddie returned.

Then both broke into laughter.

'Could you please focus on the movie, guys?' Peter - totally unfazed by the superstardom of either of his companions - asked annoyed. 'I can't hear a thing.'

Michael cheeks tinted a bright red. Quickly, he averted his eyes from Freddie and continued to watch the movie - although he still felt Freddie's presence on his side.

It was comforting and unsettling at the same time. Comforting, because he knew Freddie was a good person and felt close to him, but unsettling because he knew what Freddie was... and wasn't sure if Freddie knew what he was _not_.

When the movie eventually ended, Peter got up and turned the lights back on, announcing that it was time for him to call it a night (he knew Freddie didn't like to have him around asking stupid questions when he had guests) and left as discreetly as he could.

'Was it that scary after all?' Freddie asked Michael playfully and without thinking further rested his arm casually on the back of the couch.

Michael tensed up as Freddie's fingers accidentally brushed his neck. It was like something really dangerous was happening.

'Maybe it's just the after-affect of the movie', he thought nervously, but just to be on the safe side, shifted slightly away from Freddie.

'No, it wasn't', he replied quietly, still staring at the black screen.

'So', Freddie began, standing up. 'Do you want something? Are you thirsty?'

He nodded his head toward the table on which was a rather impressive collection of wines and liquors - all the finest quality.

'No thank you. I don't drink', Michael replied dryly and rubbed his eyes.

He knew that this was the moment he had come here for - now he was alone with Freddie.

But suddenly everything he wanted to say seemed pointless and stupid.

He followed Freddie with his eyes, watching how he poured himself a glass of vodka, how he carried himself when he walked back to the couch, how his knees bent as sat down next to him, how his soft lips pressed against the surface of the glass when he drank... He could have went on for hours just observing him. Everything that Freddie did fascinated him for some reason.

Freddie himself didn't feel too comfortable being scrutinized in such a way. He squirmed in his seat, avoided Michael's smoldering eyes, and downed the drink as fast as he could.

After finishing it to the very last drop, he carefully placed the glass on the night table and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

'Erm, so... Do you have something in mind already?' he asked in a husky voice and forced himself to look at Michael.

'I do', Michael said slowly. 'I do... I _do_ have a song.'

'A song? For us?'

'Yes.'

'Well... Could you sing a me a line of two so that I could get the idea...?'

Michael blushed and the knot in Freddie's chest loosened a little.

_A sign of humanity, at last._

'Could you look away, please?'

Freddie smiled but turned away obediently.

He closed his eyes and heard Michael breathing evenly somewhere in the darkness.

And then he began to sing.

Freddie had never heard him singing _acapella_, and the beautiful timbre in his voice along with the way he used his voice as a percussion instrument gave him goosebumps... But what took him most by surprise were the lyrics of the song.

'So this is our duet', he though agitated as Michael arrived at the bridge of the song and his voice gained more strength. 'He'll be singing this to _me_?'

'I'm very intrigued. It's great. Very impressive', he commented when Michael stopped singing. 'Who wrote it?'

'Me and Randy Hansen', Michael replied blankly.

'The guitarist Randy Hansen?'

'Him.'

'And who wrote the lyrics?'

Michael blushed and looked down at his lap.

'I did', he whispered in a hardly audible voice.

'It's a very good song', Freddie said encouragingly. 'Absolutely. When are we going to start working on it?'

'Freddie, I didn't come here because of that song.'

Freddie blinked.

'I beg your pardon?'

'I didn't come here to talk about music, you know.'

Freddie blinked again.

'What - uh - what did you come here for then?' he asked, his heart jumping painfully in his chest.

Michael squinted his eyes.

'To tell you... that I'm a Jehovah's Witness, Freddie.'

* * *

Of all the things Freddie had expected to hear this was probably the last one on his list.

'A Jehovah's Witness, huh?' he repeated, dumbstruck.

'Yes', Michael said confidently.

'Well, thank you for telling me', Freddie stated, still stunned by the unexpected turn of events. 'But I don't really get it. Did you come here to _preach_ me or what?'

Freddie saw Michael's jaw tighten as he fought keep his composure and frowned.

What was wrong with the boy?

'I came here because - because I wanted to help you.'

'Help me? That's very nice of you, Michael, but you don't have to. Really.'

'But you - you - '

'I don't need your help, Mike', Freddie assured.

Michael's lips began to tremble and tears welled up in his eyes.

Then they started to stream down his face.

Once again, Freddie was at a loss of what to do. First of all, he had no idea whatsoever what kind of help Michael was offering him. What on Earth could be so important - so _urgent_ - that he came here, all the way from his home without security guards (or so Freddie presumed), literally risking his life in the process?

'Freddie... You have no idea of what it's like to be me', Michael sobbed and buried his face into his hands. 'Every day, every night, so much pain, I can't tell ya.'

Freddie didn't know what to say so he decided just to listen.

'So lonely, every day, every night. Sometimes I go out, and walk around the neighborhood at night, just trying to find someone to talk to. But I never find anyone, Freddie.'

Michael Jackson walking in the streets of Los Angels, at nighttime?

_Alone?  
_  
'Don't you have any friends then?'

'Yes I do, but not real friends. They can't understand, because... They just can't understand how it feels like.'

'What makes you think I could understand you any better?'

Michael raised his head and looked Freddie straight in the eye, trying to come up with some reason.

'I don't know', he finally admitted and sighed. 'I shouldn't be here', he added sadly.

'Well, you are', Freddie stated matter-of-factly and put his hand on Michael's shoulder.

Michael looked at it with mixed emotions but let it stay there.

'I was about 22 when I wrote _Bohemian Rhapsody _and _Somebody To Love_. Lets not go deeper into that sh*t, but I just want to say that - so that you know. You're not alone.'

Freddie rubbed Michael's shoulder gently.

'Everyone feels a bit empty from time to time.'

Michael shook his head.

'But I feel like that all the time', he whispered quietly. 'It won't stop.'

The tear trails glistened on his cheeks.

'Not all sadness is bad, darling', Freddie stated after a while and pulled Michael into an awkward hug.

Michael stiffened at first but then let himself to melt into the embrace.

It felt good, just like he remembered. Freddie's chest was warm and solid. His strong arms held him tight and his hot breath blew across his neck. He felt his own hands moving on their own accord, caressing Freddie's back.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that this was more than a hug between two friends.

But he didn't think about it. He didn't think about Brooke or God or what he had seen in the alley.

He didn't think at all actually: Everything was blissfully blank.

'Are you feeling any better?' Freddie asked quietly.

Michael nodded, sighing.

Then he slowly let go of him.

'I should leave', he muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

'It's late. You can stay over', Freddie suggested. 'I can sleep on the couch.'

Michael eyed him suspiciously. Suddenly he remembered everything, the lust, the impurity... it made him shiver.

'But there must be more to him than that', he thought desperately. 'There has to be.'

'Okay', he agreed.

He didn't know the time, but Freddie was right - it was too late to go home.

'Great', Freddie said, smiling. 'The bed is yours.'

Michael yawned deliciously and crawled into the bed, without even taking off his clothes.


	11. The Shortest Day of All

Chapter Eleven

**THE SHORTEST DAY OF ALL**

* * *

****Freddie's back was sore when he woke up the following morning.

He looked around with sleepy eyes and found the bed empty. He wasn't surprised though. But even if there wasn't any reason why Michael _should_ have stayed, he couldn't help feeling a bit dejected.

Luckily, right after he had taken a morning shower and was about to go back to sleep Peter dropped in, announcing that the breakfast was to be served in ten minutes time.

'You don't look... your best today', Peter pointed out delicately after they had set the table and begun to eat. 'I reckon you didn't sleep all that well last night?'

Freddie scowled at him.

'May I ask - '

'For _salt_? Here you are', Freddie snapped and handed him the shaker.

'Sir, I appriciate your concern for my mineral balance but that's not quite what I was driving at.'

'I see', Freddie replied curtly.

'Are you sure you know what you're doing, sir?'

Freddie looked up at Peter, startled.

His assistant's light blue eyes stared steadily back at him.

'I have known you for a good while now and it really seems – don't get me wrong – it really _seems_ to me like you don't realize what kind of trouble you could possibly get into by messing with the wrong people.'

'I was just being friendly.'

'_Freddie_', Peter said, almost reproachfully. 'Even though I have no idea whatsoever what Mr. Jackson was after last night, I can assure it wasn't your ****.'

Freddie looked absolutely stunned. He tried to strangle Peter, who - however - cut the attempted murder short.

'I say this as a friend – and as your employee. And I won't say it again, not only because you never listen to me but also - '

'I always listen to you. More than I should. I have no options', Freddie hissed icily.

'Just as you say, sir. This is really important though. I can see you like him... A lot', Peter added when he saw Freddie's face. 'And the feeling just might be mutual to some extent. But it shouldn't go any further than that, believe me.'

'What makes you think I would be ready to take it "any further than that"?' Freddie growled back.

'Lets just say that I know you all too well.'

'One could disagree.'

'Freddie, I'm serious here. He is not your type.'

Freddie gave him a lopsided smile.

'Even if he was', Peter went on, unperturbed, 'you should already hear warning bells. First of all, he is Michael Jackson. Secondly, I don't think he's into that kind of... form of _closeness_. Thirdly: it would destroy your career. So forget about it.'

'You don't know what you're talking about', Freddie said suddenly in a sadly tone. 'It's not that.'

'Then what is it? Because what I saw - '

'You have never felt anything like that, Phoebe. So shut up for good.'

Peter scrutinized him and when he realized that the issue was far more complicated than he initially thought, he gave up.

'Very well. But I must say I still dearly hope you'd leave him alone.'

And with this one last sentence, the issue was concluded.

* * *

Freddie called Michael later that day, but was told that he wasn't available at the moment. Although there wasn't anything particularly strange in him not being available - after all, Michael was very much in demand there days - Freddie couldn't make the little voice in the back of his head quiet.

What if he really had already gone too far?

But how Michael expected him to behave, when he crashed into his hotel room at 10 in the evening, just to sing him a song and confess his unfaltering faith in Jehovah?

It was _way_ too wild to be real.

However, when he was asleep (of course Freddie had taken a look) he seemed to be totally in peace with everything that exists. Freddie could almost imagine waking up next to him, after a long night of sweet lovemaking... and that's what should have happened last night.

_Absolutely._

He brought the corner of the red silk sheet to his face and breathed in deeply.

Naturally, it smelled of Michael.

'How could I ever have let him leave this bed?' he thought half-serious and rubbed the slippery fabric between his fingers.

* * *

'Brooke I need you here – now.'

Michael's voice was pleading. Brooke had never heard him so distraught and was a bit apprehensive about what was to come next.

'What's wrong, Michael?' she asked worried.

'Nothing, nothing... Honey, I _need_ you. _Please_.'

Michael was literally begging her to come.

And since Brooke didn't have any reason why _not_ to do as asked, she ordered a taxi right after the call and stood behind the door of Michael's room only twenty minutes later.

'What took you so long?' Michael complained when you opened the door and dragged her in.

Then he kicked the door shut in a dramatic motion and threw himself into her arms.

Brooke had to take a step backwards and Michael used her imbalance as his advantage, pulling her even closer. Soon she felt her back press up against the door, as Michael gently but firmly pinned her arms to her sides and started to kiss her demandingly. He didn't open his eyes once nor said a word. Even though Brooke felt slightly threatened by his aggressiveness, she couldn't deny that it was quite flattering to be surprised like this.

It took her a moment to realize, though, that Michael was now steering her toward the mattress. She tensed up for a second, but Michael continued to push her nevertheless. Soon she felt her knees buckle and fell backwards, landing safely on the soft bed covers.

Michael collapsed on top of her.

However, as the kiss went on, Brooke noticed that it was rapidly losing its passion. Finally she broke off and - like she had thought - Michael didn't even object. He rolled to his side panting and his eyes squinting, and Brooke reached out to caress his hair.

They laid like this for a long time, until Michael suddenly threw his eyes open and looked at Brooke, an alarmed expression on his face.

'Are you okay?' he asked, anxious and clearly ashamed of what he had been about to do.

Brooke nodded and gave him a little smile.

'I'm so sorry.'

'It's okay, Michael.'

'No it's not.'

'Michael, it wasn't that bad. At _all_. In fact: I liked it. It was just totally unexpected, you know.'

Michael blinked bemused.

'I would've asked you to stop if I hadn't wanted that to happen. But I didn't stop you now because I wouldn't want this but because I got the feeling that _you_ don't.'

'I really _thought_ I did', Michael muttered very quietly.

'Well, I don't think so', Brooke stated determinedly and pecked him softly on the mouth. 'Be honest to yourself. You're not ready yet.'

Michael rubbed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. Then he hugged Brooke, trying to make every part of his body to touch her.

Her body heat warmed him sweetly.

'Brooke', he began timidly, still holding her tight and enjoying the moment.

Brooke only hummed in response, snuggling against his pillowy hair.

'Could you sleep with me tonight? I mean – just sleep, nothing more?'

'Of course. If you promise you won't snore, that is.'

Michael chuckled.

'I never snore', he assured, smiling. 'I swear.'

* * *

Brooke twisted and turned in her sheets, trying to catch sleep, but nothing helped.

Her beautiful light brown curls were glued to her cheeks and Michael, who was laying on her side blissfully asleep, totally compensated the chilling effect of the open window with his body heat.

It wasn't that it was unpleasant to sleep with Michael: it was that Brooke wasn't used to sharing a bed with anyone. And even though Michael didn't snore – just like he promised – he breathed quite heavily and in the silent room it sounded like a chainsaw revving up.

So – after another sleepless hour – Brooke finally got up, tiptoed to Michael's private bathroom and locked the door after her.

She turned on the lights and had to blink for a few seconds before her eyes adjusted to the bright light.

But as soon as she could see again, she glanced in the mirror... and could do nothing but laugh: her hair was totally messed up and with bulging bags under her eyes she looked like a certain late movie director.

Brooke ended up making some silly faces at the mirror to entertain herself, but got bored soon and tried to think up something else to do.

She couldn't take a shower in the middle of night – but she could pluck her eyebrows: The irritating operation had to be done once in a while, and now she had the perfect opportunity.

But when she pulled open the doors of Michael's mirror cabinet, she was encountered by such an impressive collection of perfume bottles, facial cream, lotion tubes, and cotton pads that she couldn't have found a proper pair of tweezers had she spent the rest of night hunting for them.

Thus, she gave up the idea and chose to clip her nails instead as she found a pair of nail scissors by the sink.

After she was done with her fingers, she sat down on the toilet seat to clip her toenails - and that's when something colorful in the corner of her eye caught her attention.

She leaned against the wall and glanced down and right there - squeezed between the wall and giant, shiny black make-up case - was a thin stack of crumpled magazine papers.

'Aren't those... _men's magazines?_' Brooke thought puzzled. 'Maybe I should leave them right there.'

However, soon her curiosity took over her and she stooped down to pull the papers out.

Brooke chuckled at her own silliness.

'So this is Michael's dirty secret', she mused, examining the discolored front page of _Rolling Stone _magazine. 'Porn my ass.'

But she hadn't even finished the thought when something dropped into her lap.

'What's this?' she muttered and picked up the clipping.

It was a picture of Freddie Mercury.

Brooke raised her eyebrows in surprise and put the _Rolling Stone_ aside, taking a look at the magazine under it.

It was a Japanese _Music Life_ with _Queen_ on the front cover.

As Brooke leafed through the magazine, more clippings and photographs fell from between the pages, all featuring Freddie: They were either his interviews, concert reviews, or just simply photos of him dancing, singing, sitting, standing, talking...

And as if this wasn't strange enough, Brooke found a tiny notebook inside the third magazine, full of handwritten notes, lyrics, and sketches - all inspired by the lead singer of _Queen_.

Brooke blinked. Well, this wasn't something she would have expected to find in Michael's private bathroom.

He clearly admired Freddie.

_A lot._

'So that's why he got so upset. But why didn't he tell me?' she wondered, staring at the photos in front of her. 'It's not like it was something to be ashamed of... Hmm?'

She had flipped open the last page of the notebook and noticed a short poem on the bottom of the page.

It was written in a tiny, almost indecipherable script so that Brooke had to squint her eyes and bring the notebook closer to read it:

_'Always follow your heart', You said,  
'And you will never be led astray.'  
But who am I to follow now  
that I have lost my guide?_She stared at the words for a few seconds.

Now this didn't make sense, did it.

'Am I just imagining something here, or is he...'

Suddenly she felt a sting of guilt for invading Michael's privacy. Very quickly, she slipped all the clippings in between the pages of the _Rolling Stone_ and put the magazines very carefully back to where she found them.

'It's nothing', she assured herself. 'Nothing at all.'

She stood up, exited the bathroom, and crawled back onto the mattress, where Michael slept ever so peacefully.

'I love you', she whispered and kissed him on the forehead.

Then she nestled closer to him and closed her eyes.

Soon after she fell asleep. 


	12. I Ain't Got Enough (Yet)

Chapter Twelve

**I AIN'T GOT ENOUGH (YET)**

* * *

****'Wake up... Wake up...'

Freddie sighed and his eyelids fluttered open. The first thing he saw was Andy's grinning face leaning over his.

It was closest to the best thing he could imagine, and when Andy's index finger drew a line down his nose and lingered on his lips, tickling them, Freddie couldn't help but be grateful for how lucky he was to have him here this morning.

Otherwise he would have woken up alone.

'How did ya sleep?' Andy purred and rested his head back on the pillow.

'Well enough', Freddie replied and closed his eyes for a moment.

Days passed by too quicky. He didn't even have time to think any further than the week ahead. Luckily he had Peter here to keep him connected...

'Do you want something for lunch?'

Freddie jolted up from the bed.

It was almost 1PM.

How could he have slept for so long?

'Damn', he cursed and grabbed his jeans from the chair.

At the same time the phone ringed.

'Could you answer that, please. It's probably Peter', Freddie yelled and ran into the bathroom to wash his face.

Andy chuckled at his lover's sudden haste and reached his hand out for the phone.

'Andy Jones.'

The other end was dead silent.

'Hullo' he said in a louder voice. 'Who's there?'

'Isn't this Freddie Mercury's room?' a familiar high-pitched nasal male voice eventually asked.

'Oh yes. Would you like to leave a message for him? He's not available right now.'

'Uhm', the man exclaimed. 'I would rather talk with him. Are you – you are his...'

'Friend.'

'I see. Where is he now? Will he come back anytime soon?'

'I think so', Andy stated and glanced over at the bathroom door. 'But he can call you back if you just give your name.'

The young man on the phone muttered something unintelligible.

'I beg your pardon?'

'It's Michael Jackson.'

Andy's eyes threw open. This could only happen with Freddie.

Good Christ.

'Very well... I'll tell him that you called - '

'Who's calling?'

Andy jumped and looked up at Freddie who stood at the bathroom door a towel around his neck.

Andy didn't anwer but handed the handset over to him.

'Freddie Mercury on the phone. Who is it?'

'It's me, Michael. Look – I can call you later. You seem to be busy at the moment', Michael said in a resigned voice.

He did sound a bit hurt.

'It's nothing urgent.'

'No, I have time now. What is it?'

'Well, my manager called me this morning...'

'Ouch!' Freddie grunted. 'Get off me', he hissed to Andy who had placed an ice cold pair of hands on his waist.

'Uhm – Freddie?'

'Yes, Michael?' Freddie panted. 'I'm sorry.'

Andy kissed the back of his neck playfully and Freddie tried to shuffle him off – unsuccessfully.

'That's fine, Freddie. But look: I just called to tell you I don't have time for that project of ours right now. I've got to fly to New York tomorrow morning. I'm really sorry about this. But I think it was nice enough to get to know you. Hopefully we'll stay in touch in the future.'

'Michael - '

'I've got to go now. Looking forward to hearing from you again. Bye.'

_CLICK_

Freddie's hand shook when he put the handset back into the base cradle. Andy, who still hadn't got the hint, tried his best to get him in the mood again, but Freddie couldn't be less interested.

'Didn't I tell you _not_ to disturb me when I'm on the phone? You know if anyone gets to know about this, I'm_done._'

Andy's grin only widened.

'But you have to admit it was exciting. Imagine: the lead singer the _Jackson 5_ talking to you while you're in bed with a guy..._ Priceless._ I could just hear your voice getting darker, when I - '

'Oh, sod off, you', Freddie snarled and threw a pillow at him, trying to hide his disappointment. 'I've to take care of something. Call yourself a taxi, I'll pay.'

Andy's face fell but he nodded nevertheless and gathered his clothes from the floor.

Meanwhile Freddie returned to the bathroom and locked the door just to be safe.

'He can't do that, dammit', he muttered to himself and turned on the shower, shrieking and shying away from the showerhead as the water ran cold.

* * *

Michael couldn't stay still.

He walked to and fro in the empty dining room, biting his thumbnail nervously.

It wasn't like him to tell lies. That's why he always tried to be as honest as possible, because he knew he wasn't that good of a liar – his eyes betrayed everything.

On the phone, however, Freddie couldn't see him and in fact it was scary how easy it had been to cook up an excuse for why he couldn't work with him anymore.

However, some Andy guy had answered instead and he could have bet it was the very same guy Freddie had snogged with on that miserable evening when he was out on a date with Brooke. Apparently he was Freddie's boyfriend or something.

Michael could hear the sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen and decided to pay Martha – their cook – a visit to distract his overwrought mind.

'And how are things going here?' he asked politely, sitting down on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island.

'Everything's fine, thanks for asking', Martha replied good-naturedly and raised her head to give him a small smile. 'I'll start making dinner as soon as I'm finished with these dishes. What about you, dear?'

'Me? I'm okay', Michael stated trying to sound nonchalant.

'Is something wrong?'

Martha's sharp eyes studied him. Michael grimaced.

'Not really... But it's nothing serious...'

'Hello?'

Michael raised his eyebrows but quickly realized it wasn't him Martha was greeting but someone behind him. He looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened in shock as he saw Freddie standing at the door, gazing at him.

The expression on his face was anxious, and Michael got a weird feeling about it: it was almost like Freddie was heartbroken... Which made him feel even worse about himself.

'Erm – hi.'

'Hi', Freddie replied in a dry tone.

'Who let you in?' Michael inquired.

He did sound rude. But after all, it was _Freddie_ who had come into _his_ house - without an invitation.

'To tell the truth, your very own security guards', Freddie explained and chuckled. 'They sort of recognized me. Do you have a minute?'

Michael sighed and pouted his lips. Martha, who sensed that it was going to be a private conversation, quietly placed the plate she was washing in the sink and left the room.

Michael crossed his arms and looked after her, wishing she would be considerate enough to stay out of earshot.

'So – what is it?' he asked when she was gone, feigning ignorance even though he had a pretty good idea of what had brought Freddie here.

'Have I done something? Like – did I insult you? I'm sorry if I did.'

Michael was taken aback by the tinge of genuine desperation in his voice. He realized that he never should have lied to this man, because it hadn't worked at all: Freddie _knew_ his trip was a lie and thought he had done something wrong.

'No, of course you didn't', Michael muttered embarrassed and got up from the stool.

But what should he say then? Freddie really cared about him - and he cared about Freddie - but it had already gotten out of hand.

'Then what did I do? Because the last time I saw you, you were still going to do this. You even had a song in the making. Or did I misunderstand something there?'

Michael cringed. How was he going to break it down to Freddie that he couldn't be anywhere near him without re-experiencing what he had witnessed in the alley? That everytime he touched him he saw a glimpse of that other man, heard him panting and grunting as his back scraped against the deep red brick wall...

It wasn't something he wanted to remember. It was like one of those haunting nightmares that lived through the day, never leaving him alone. And he couldn't stand the emotions it stirred within him.

'I'm just busy at the moment. You have to understand. I told you, I'm very sorry about it', Michael said hurriedly. 'It has nothing to do with you.'

Freddie narrowed his eyes and frowned.

For a long time he didn't say anything, just stared at Michael like he had now seen him in a totally different light.

'I get it', he stated a bit annoyed and tilted his head. 'I get it. I think it has _everything_ to do with me. Doesn't it?'

'No, I didn't say that...' Michael tried to argue back although he had to admit it was stupid to claim otherwise.

It really was Freddie – his sexuality to be exact – that bothered him the most. He wanted to do the duet more than anything but he couldn't stand that sense of insecurity whenever Freddie was around. He had thought that he could, but the evening at the hotel had confirmed what he already knew: it was just too much for him. It was against everything he believed in.

It was too much to handle.

'Yes you did. And I got what you mean, don't worry. I won't bother you no longer. I am what I am – and I'm damn proud of it.'

'Then why are you keeping it as a secret?' Michael blurted out before he could stop himself.

Freddie's eyes flashed.

So he had been right: Michael Jackson didn't want to work with him... because he was gay.

* * *

Unexpectedly, Freddie found the realization liberating.

'So this is the reason why he keeps acting like I had the plague', he mused and looked at Michael who twisted the hem of his red shirt in his fingers and cast his eyes to the floor, avoiding his gaze.

He was adorable. Freddie knew Michael would freak out if he knew what he was thinking, but he didn't care. Right from the start it was clear his attraction was very much one-sided even though he wished that wouldn't be the case. He could live with that as long as he knew where he stood with Michael.

And now he knew exactly where.

'You know very well why I can't go around announcing it', he finally said in a calm and composed voice. 'People could get the wrong impression. Besides, I don't see why my lifestyle should be anyone else's problem. I like to keep them guessing.'

'Oh, I see', Michael whispered and fell silent, embarrassed beyond belief.

Freddie shrugged and put his hands into the pockets of his pants.

'Doesn't it bother you though?' Michael asked after a while, still keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floor tiles. 'That people could find out one day?'

Freddie snorted.

'Of course it does. But more when I was younger.'

'Have you ever been in faith?'

Freddie started to feel a bit uncomfortable with the way Michael talked. He sounded like a robot, adamant not to take the conversation to a more personal level.

'Sort of. I have my own religion.'

'And it allows... embraces... that kind of... behavior?'

'Yes, my religion embraces homosexuality', Freddie snapped, annoyed by the thinly veiled disgusted look on Michael's face.

Michael flinched at the last word, adding to his irritation.

'Don't worry. At least it's not contagious.'

Michael smirked.

'Of course not, and you're not the only... only...'

'_Queer._'

'...I know. I have many friends who are like that and it's their business not mine. But I'm just thinking... how can _you_ be like that? Because you are not like them, at all, and they - act in a certain way.'

Freddie sighed in frustration.

'Let me put it this way: it has nothing to do with my music. But as much as I am a musician I am a homosexual man. I think it's one of my gifts, really. And I'm glad I found it.'

Michael shook his head.

'That doesn't make any sense...'

'It doesn't?' Freddie questioned. 'Well, it does - to me. When I found that side of me, I finally understood who I am and why I couldn't love Mary as much as I wanted.'

'Who is this Mary?' Michael asked, confused.

'She is my soulmate, really. A great friend. We met in London back in the 70's and we were actually a couple for a few years but it didn't work out. I am what I am and I couldn't be completely honest with her. Which led to problems, of course.'

Michael listened to Freddie bemused. He called Mary his _soulmate_... But couldn't help living in sin.

What _was_ that?

'Sounds painful to me... But are you sure you – you can't live without... you know?'

Freddie gazed at Michael.

For the first time Michael noticed how gentle his eyes were – deep brown blended with some darker shade.

'These are eyes of a genius', he thought, enthralled. 'He's such a wise soul.'

And _still..._

'No I couldn't', Freddie answered to his question and smiled forcedly. 'It's a part of me. It's something that drives me, keeps me going. It's love, after all...'

'No it's not love', Michael interrupted. '_Lust_ maybe. A carnal lust.'

'I dare to disagree. It's love.'

'No, it's not. If you really loved Mary - '

'I love her as a friend. And I will always love her in that way and that way only.'

Michael's face distorted in anger.

'Then she's not the right girl for you. You haven't found that right one yet.'

'Believe me, Michael', Freddie assured. 'I've been looking for that right girl long enough and if there ever was one, it was Mary. But I don't feel like I should be together with her. It doesn't seem right.'

'Why doesn't it?'

Freddie blinked and coughed.

'Because... I think I've found someone else.'

Michael gulped and his stomach turned a bit. His heart raced like a roulette wheel. Once again, he saw that face.

_Andy. _

What did Andy have that Mary did not? It couldn't be his personality. He had sounded rather dull on the phone.

So that must have been his looks...

Or just the fact that he was a man.

'I know who you mean', Michael stated but Freddie looked at him surprised.

'Oh you do?' he asked nervously, a startled look on his face. 'How come?'

'I saw you. I was on a date and I saw you and him... You were... I don't remember the name of the street. It was a few days ago. So I know who he is.'

Freddie literally froze.

Michael had seen him and Andy? How was that ever possible?

He didn't want to think how it had looked to Michael. But maybe he should be happy it had been Michael and not some over-energitic reporter guy. Although he wasn't afraid of being outed, he didn't want to be too open about it.

'Uh... I'm sorry you had to see that', Freddie stammered. 'I guess I have to be more careful in the future.'

'You really should', Michael agreed.

'But he isn't the one that I meant.'

Michael's eyes shot up to Freddie.

'Huh?'

Freddie looked at Michael intently and took a few steps toward him. He stopped in front of him and Michael lowered his eyes, clearly feeling intimidated by the sudden proximity.

Or maybe he already knew whom he was talking about.

'What are you doing?' Michael muttered under his breath although Freddie wasn't sure if the question was pointed at him or Michael himself.

'Relax', Freddie whispered and brought his hand up to stroke Michael's cheek. Michael quivered under his touch and looked up at him, alarmed.

Perhaps it was one of those moments when something needs to be done, or then Freddie just wanted to do it so badly he didn't care about the result. Either way, he knew this could be the last chance he ever got.

So – when the worry in Michael's eyes faded ever so slightly, Freddie tenderly slid his fingers over his forehead, then placed his hand on the back of his neck and closed the distance between their lips.

Michael lips were soft - just like he had thought they would - soft as silk. They trembled a little and Freddie knew he was pushing Michael's limits. But to Freddie surprise he wasn't pushed away. Rather, Michael didn't react at all. He had closed his eyes, lightly rather than tightly, and Freddie wondered if he had escaped into a fantasy world of some kind.

When their lips eventually parted, Freddie took a moment to study Michael.

He couldn't say he was relaxed – he could see that from the way his shoulders were set. And he still had his eyes closed.

In a strange way, Freddie felt like someone had took control over his body. He couldn't possibly have kissed that angel in front of him... But that's exactly what he had done.

Suddenly the big almond eyes cracked open and right at that moment everything changed.

Michael's face contorted into a mask of rage. Freddie, however, stayed where he was, not backing down an inch.

'I think', Michael said very slowly, trying not to lose his temper, 'that it's time for you to leave.'

His voice was very low, almost unrecognizable.

Freddie nodded briefly, breathing out a long breath as he glanced at Michael, who had in a split second moved behind the kitchen island, crossed his arms again and looked determinedly at the window on his left side like he feared someone would burst through it at any minute.

'Goodbye, Michael.'

He knew Freddie was at the door, waiting for him to turn his head, acknowledge the fact that he was going - and never coming back.

But Michael didn't want to. No matter how heart-wrenching the tone of his voice was, he didn't want to give in.

He knew he could fight this. He would. Nothing, absolutely nothing had happened between them.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

_Nothing._

But still he couldn't look at Freddie.

It felt like an eternity until Michael heart footsteps again and immediately tensed up. When a hand then landed on his arm, he jerked it violently away.

'Michael, it's me – Martha. Did something just happen?' an anxious female voice asked and Michael blinked a few times.

He glanced at the doorway.

It was empty.

'Nothing happened', Michael stated blankly and furrowed his brows.

Where was he?

_Or had it all been just a dream?_

'Nothing?' Martha asked, suspicious. 'Alright. Where did Mr. Mercury go? Did he leave?'

So it hadn't been a dream.

Michael felt dizzy.

'Yes, he had to leave... Business matters...' Michael mumbled and tried to steady himself by leaning against the table. 'Everything's fine.'

'Are you sure?'

Martha sounded genuinely worried. Michael raised his hands to rub his eyes and left them there to cover his face. Martha's hand massaged his back until he loosened up and then she walked him to one of the sofas in the living room and made him lay down on it.

'You must take some rest. I bet you haven't taken a bite the whole day.'

Michael chuckled. Martha knew him all too well.

'Your mother better come back from her holiday as soon as possible because this can't go on: you need to eat more, sweetheart. You need food every day.'

Michael didn't answer but rested his head on a cushion and curled into a ball. Martha found a blanket somewhere and covered him with it.

After that, she left.

Michael sniffed the blanket. It smelt of mama. He smiled and pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

Then he licked his lips – and they tasted of Freddie.


	13. Caught in a Landslide

Chapter Thirteen

**CAUGHT IN A LANDSLIDE**

* * *

_****Los Angeles_  
_September 1981 (A year later)_

__'Martha sent this to you.'

Michael raised his head and looked up at Brooke, who held up an apple. He took it and examined it carefully but didn't take a bite.

Brooke cringed when she noticed how thin he was: last night when she sat in the audience, she had thought it was just because of the stage lighting but now she could see he indeed had lost a lot of weight.

They didn't meet that often – Michael had been on the tour with his brothers and Brooke, too, had projects of her own – and still Brooke could tell Michael was everything but fine.

If she just knew what was making him so unhappy... But he wouldn't tell her.

'How are you, Brooke?'

Brooke startled.

'I'm coping. You?'

'I'm okay.'

'No you're not', Brooke thought, worried, but didn't say it aloud.

'Are you relieved now that the tour is finally over?'

Michael nodded.

'Very much so', he muttered, although the tone of his voice was in stark contradiction with these words. 'Now I can get on with my own stuff again.'

Brooke smiled and the fist around her heart loosened its grip a bit when he looked Michael in the eye and saw a glimpse of joy in them.

'That sounds great', she agreed, genuinely happy for him. 'I'm looking forward to hearing the new songs you told me about.'

Michael clenched his teeth. The muscles in his sunken cheeks strained.

'Yes, I've got a couple of nice songs for ya. Do you want to hear something? Wait a sec.'

Michael held up his index finger and handed the apple back to Brooke. Then he twirled around and ran to the cassette player. Soon music started to play and immediately Michael striked a pose. Brooke couldn't help but admire the way he absorbed into the beat.

However, when she watched Michael dancing and singing along with the new demo, she felt a tinge of sadness: he was god-like in a way, unreachable and untouchable.

It had now been a year and a half since Michael asked her to be his girl – but to this day not once had she felt that he belonged to her. They were the best of friends – or had been in the past – but never more than that, no matter what he said.

Brooke knew it wasn't Michael's religion nor their full time schedules that kept them apart. It was the fact that he didn't love her as much as she did. It wasn't that he didn't try – because he did try – but to Brooke it seemed like he couldn't. Even now when she looked at him, she could tell that he wasn't dancing for her. Of course she was deeply touched by everything he did – but at the same time she felt almost guilty for watching something that wasn't meant for her.

'You're the King of Dance!' she cheered none the less when the music faded away and Michael turned to her, anxiously waiting for her comments on his performance. 'I'm so impressed. That was amazing, Michael.'

'I'm glad you liked it', Michael purred and for the first time today he seemed to be satisfied with himself. 'Girl.'

Brooke gulped when she heard the last word as it eeriely reminded her of what she had been thinking a few minutes ago.

'I really did', she said and Michael jumped about excitedly.

'You should say that to Quincy', he chuckled, grinning wickedly. 'He didn't like it at all.'

'Oh he didn't? Maybe he has become deaf.'

'Oh no he hasn't. He thought that I should cut the intro. But that would be like an amputation, I don't wanna make my songs all crippled. So I said that either we keep the intro or we can forget about this album. I love this piece so much.'

Brooke listened to him attentively. When he talked about music, it was like everything changed: his eyes shone, he moved effortlessly and his voice flowed beautifully.

'He's an ass. Let mama take care of it, I'll take him right.'

Michael looked at her in awe and then burst out in hysteric laughter.

'Brooke! I never knew that a new side of ya! You're bad, girl! Oh, I love you.'

Brooke laughed along and her heart jumped when she looked into Michael's eyes and saw how much he cared about her.

Suddenly Michael glanced at the clock and stopped laughing at once.

'It's 7PM already', he gasped. 'Oh boy.'

He blinked a few times and Brooke watched puzzled as he fought to keep his composure.

What was going on?

'Yes it is', she said slowly, staring at the apple in her hand. 'Are you having a guest or what?'

Michael flinched.

'Kinda. Could you please... '

Brooke nodded and put the apple on the sofa table. When she turned around, Michael was standing behind her, looking at her with deep emotion.

'Brooke, you're the most beautiful girl in the world. You have to know this. I don't even deserve you.'

Brooke looked back at him astounded.

'No, Michael. I don't deserve you.'

Michael lowered his head.

_If she just knew._

'I love you', he said.

Brooke smirked.

'I love you too, Michael.'

Michael enclosed her in his arms and didn't release her for a long time. When he finally did, he had tears in his eyes.

'See you soon', he whispered and smootched her once more.

'I'll call you later this week when I have time. Just remember, Michael: you're a wonderful human being. Never forget that.'

This was too much for Michael. He rubbed his hands together, laughed nervously and licked his lips.

'Good night, Brooke.'

Brooke smiled and Michael opened the door for her. As she walked through it, both she and Michael heard footsteps from the stairs and soon a young, athletic man appeared into their field of vision.

Brooke looked at Michael surprised.

'Brooke – this is... Steven', Michael muttered, fidgeting uncomfortably.

'Hello', Brooke greeted the youth who had halted in front of her, eyeing her curiously. 'Are you business partners or what?'

'Steven is my... one of my technicians.'

'Well, nice to meet you Steven.'

'Nice to meet you too, Ms. Shields.'

'I've to go now – I call you, okay?'

Brooke brushed her hand down Michael's arm. Michael smiled a bit stiffly.

'Yeah. See you later.'

She gave an odd look at Steven before heading for the stairs. When she was descending downstairs, she heard the door slam shut behind her.

There was something very strange about Steven, but she couldn't place what. Maybe it was the way he looked at Michael or the way his presence made Michael all jittery, but there was one thing Brooke knew for sure: that man was not a technician.

On the other hand, it wasn't unusual for Michael to be a bit secretive about his affairs. And Brooke knew he didn't like people speculating on his private life. Maybe she just should try stop thinking so much.

Maybe she was just imagining things.

So – when she walked across the paved yard toward her SUV, she decided to no longer concern herself with Michael's weird acquaintances. He had the right to keep things to himself. He had always been that way.

Brooke leaned her forehead against the car door. Then she opened it and sat down behind the wheel. She took a last look at the house and pushed the pedal down.

Meanwhile, Michael had sank down on an armchair near the fireplace. Steven sat on the sofa across from him, now and then glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

Michael looked at the fire. His heart was heavy: The guilt burned inside him, as strong as always.

'How far have I gone?' he thought, his breath coming out in grunts. 'I don't recognize myself anymore. Oh, if I just could stop this...'

'Michael.'

Michael jumped when he heard his name called. He opened his eyes and saw Steven's face hovering above his.

Michael's throat tightened with emotion. Right now, he could stop this madness, if he just pushed him away, told him to go and never come back, just like he had told Freddie...

But Steven was here at his request. Unlike Freddie.

_Freddie..._

Then a hot pair of lips attached themselves to his bare collarbone and Michael knew it was too late to say no. He closed his eyes and melted into the kiss, forgetting Brooke, his religion, people's expectations... Everything.

Longing and desire grew with each delicate caress but just before he was about to pull Steven closer, he remembered something and whispered it in his ear:

'Please, don't call me Michael anymore. Don't speak at all, okay?'

Steven nodded and then pressed their mouths together.

After that Michael couldn't remember a thing. Nor did he want to.


	14. Into the Nightlife

Chapter Fourteen

**INTO THE NIGHTLIFE**

* * *

****_New York_  
_July 1982 (A year later)_

It was 11PM on a Wednesday night and Studio 54 was _packed._

Freddie and Roger tried to dance their way through the crowd consisting of boozed celebrities and beautiful golddiggers. It was hard, though, because everyone who saw them for strobo lights wanted to either shake hands with them or at least make themselves known by showing their best moves in front of them, feigning cool indifference.

However, eventually the two men reached the bar, sat at it and ordered their drinks. After his first pint of the night, Freddie visibly relaxed and even flirted with the bartender, earning curious glances from Roger.

'What?' he asked nonchalantly and gulped his beer. 'Don't be so uptight, mate, I was only playing around a bit. Hey - look who's there.'

Roger turned to look in the direction Freddie was pointing and indeed: there were Harry and Sarah, their old friends from their time at the Kensington Market, waving at them, big grings on their faces. They had become petty close at the time but hadn't stayed in touch after Freddie and Roger quitted their jobs at the market.

'Very nice to see you! Very nice indeed' Freddie exclaimed, when he was near enough to pull both of them into a bear hug. 'What brings you two so far from London, if I may ask?'

'You', Sarah giggled and squeezed him. 'We were at the concert tonight and it was bloody _great_! I'm so proud of you, especially because I know how difficult it was for you to become established as an artist. And what kind of artist! You are brilliant, Freddie.'

Roger snickered.

'I think Freddie is very much aware of exactly how brilliant he is – both on and off stage.'

'Oh, be quiet, you', Freddie hissed at him. 'Thank you so much, darling', he said to Sarah. 'I apprecite your enthusiasm. I don't get to hear that often at all.'

'You can hear it again', Sarah replied satisfied. 'You were amazing. And so were you, Roger', she added hastily.

Roger rolled his eyes.

'How typical.'

'No seriously: you are the best drummer I know.'

Then she turned to her companion and poked him with her elbow.

'Harry, why don't you say anything? I know you liked it.'

Everyone turned to look at Harry, who grinned widely and shrugged.

'Yes I did', he blurted. 'Congratulations: you were very good. Now, where's my free beer?'

* * *

Half a hour later, they had moved to the lounge and shared what each of them had gone through during the past ten years or so. Turned out that Sarah and Harry were engaged and planned to marry next year.

'I proposed to her while at Disneyland', Harry told them in slightly sarcastic tone. 'She just adores all that fluffy stuff so I ended up giving her a pink engagement ring. '

'I though you weren't being serious with that!' Sarah exclaimed, punching her fiancé in the stomach. 'Who gives their loved one a _pink_ ring?'

'I did', Harry stated, sounding serious. 'It was rose gold, actually.'

The couple exchanged loving glances. Roger looked at Freddie knowingly.

'How about you two? Do you have a special someone in your life?'

Freddie startled.

'Oh no', he said quickly. 'I have no time for that. At all. Or wait a minute... I do, sort of.'

'Very intriguing. What's her name?'

'Oscar', Freddie chuckled.

Sarah's and Harry's eyebrows shot up.

'Oscar?' they repeated incredulously in unison. 'Oscar? Well, that's...'

Roger sighed exasperated.

'It's the name of his cat. He calls him every evening, just to say 'good night' and tell him he'll be back in a few days.'

'Aww – isn't that adorable, Harry?'

'Yeah, how wonderful is that', Roger mocked.

Freddie glared at him, took a sip from his drink and looked around in the dim hall.

Suddenly his eyes fastened on a black man, who sat alone at the corner table a baseball cap drawn low over his eyes. He had a big, bushy moustache and he was suspiciously motionless. His baggy, dark clothes hung loose on his lithe frame.

But what startled Freddie the most were his eyes – deep, dark brown orbs – which stared at him for a split second before dropping on the floor.

Sarah, Harry and Brian went on talking like nothing had happened, but Freddie grew more uncomfortable with each passing second. Finally he got up from the table and started to walk towards the corner, intending to go to the man and ask why he was staring at him.

But by the time he reached the corner table, the man was nowhere to be seen.

Freddie looked about, trying see where he had gone, but couldn't catch a glimpse of the dark-clothed stranger.

Now Freddie was convinced that the man had been observing him – who knows for how long. The thought disturbed him greatly. He returned to the table, where his friends sat quietly, waiting for him to explain what had made him jolt up all of a sudden.

'False alarm', Freddie muttered and raised his pint to his lips. 'I just thought that I saw... Well, nothing interesting really.'

'Who did you see?' Harry inquired good-naturedly.

'No one', Freddie replied sharply and changed the topic.

* * *

Michael was still shaking when he had got out and stood on the pavement in front of the nightclub, watching cars driving down the 54th Street, towards Manhattan's eastern shore.

There were herds of people all around him, girls in costly dresses and stilettos, gentlemen in Armani suits and celebrities, who went in and out of the doors as they pleased. Michael lurked in the shadows, wishing he could be one of those who entered the club without bodyguards or disguises, as themselves. But if he was ever to do that, everyone would be all over him in an instant, asking questions, taking photos, writing down every word he uttered... And he just wanted to _be_ there - with Freddie.

Freddie had looked so happy, laughing and drinking with his friends. He smiled a lot. In fact, he smiled all the time. And his every smile lit up the whole room.

It's unbelievable how such a simple gesture can change everything, everything in the world...

'Sir, excuse me. Can you do me a favor?'

Michael's heart sank. He looked at the lady who had talked to him and nodded.

'Whatever you want.'

'You just came out of Studio 54, didn't you?'

'Yes I did.'

'Ashley. Nice to meet you', the lady said and extended her hand to him. 'They won't let me in because I'm not good-looking enough. But the thing is, my daughter's in there. She's fifteen and that is no place for her to be at her age. I'm so worried – is there any way you could take me inside?'

Michael shook his head.

'I'm so sorry', he said quietly. 'I just came out and I didn't plan on going back anytime soon.'

'Please. I'm hopeless.'

Michael knew she was telling the truth. And he really wanted to help.

But he didn't want to return to the club. Freddie had seen him and recognized him even – why else would he have approached him like that? - and Michael didn't want to bump into him again. He had everything under control, he had Brooke who loved him, he had Steven - whom he could trust - to satisfy his shameful urges and most of all, he got his music.

He didn't need Freddie... or even if he did, it wasn't like he _wanted_ anything from him. What he had seen today was enough. A single smile would have been enough. His concert would have been enough. Looking at his picture. Anything would do, because he already had him with him wherever he went, whatever he did.

'Okay then', Michael said slowly after a while, biting his thumb. 'But just through the doors, okay?'

Ashley crossed her hands.

'Oh thank you, thank you!'

'That's alright, it's nothing.'

'What's your name?'

'Trevor', Michael said, giving her the first name that popped into his head. 'This way, _madame._'

When they were happily inside and Ashley gave him a twenty-dollar bill and thanked him warmly. Michael smoothed the bill in his hand and scrutinized president Andrew Jackson's noble features for a moment. Then he handed the bill back to Ashley, gave her a little smile and turned to leave.

That's when he saw Freddie. He was dancing in front of the DJ booth with some handsome blonde guy. They were just dancing, but for Michael it looked like something else: the guy was most certainly into Freddie and Freddie didn't seem to mind at all.

Michael's eyes flashed. He didn't even care to check if Roger was somewhere near. He headed straight to the bar, asked for a drink – which wasn't like him at all – and dropped a candy into it to smooth out the bitter taste of alcohol. He was so nervous that the glass clinked against his teeth as he downed everything in one gulp.

It felt like his brain was on fire. He held his head between his hands and immediately regretted his stupidity.

'Are you alright?' a female waitress asked worried but Michael waved her off.

'I'm well, thanks.'

'You think so?'

Michael didn't need to turn around to know who had posed the question.

He hid his face behind his hands, but it was useless. Of course Freddie knew who he was.

'Come over here for a minute.'

Michael scrambled to his feet but refused to move. When Freddie gripped his arm, he jumped and shook him off.

'Hurts.'

'I'm sorry, but that's your own fault. Listen: I've my friends there waiting for me. I just want to ask you something and I can't do it here. So, could you please... Michael.'

Michael felt his mouth go dry at the mention of his name.

'Okay.'

'Good', Freddie said and gestured for him to follow.

They found a relatively sheltered spot on the stairs to the basement that was being renovated and sat down on the steps. Then Freddie turned to Michael and scrutinized him.

'You look thin', he stated matter-of-factly. 'Have you been ill?'

Michael looked grim.

'No, I haven't been ill.'

'Right. What are you doing here?'

'That's none of your business', Michael muttered weakly. 'Not at all.'

'But you were watching me.'

Michael cringed. Yes, he had been watching Freddie. He couldn't deny that.

'Yeah, I was.'

'Why's that?'

Michael's shoulders tensed up. Freddie got the sense he was going to run away so he took a hold of his shirt. A tremor went thought Michael's body.

The disco music pumped in the background and his heart beat in the same rhythm. Michael blinked a few times but the blurriness in his eyes didn't go away. He was totally at loss what to do, so he just shut the world off and concentrated on the music.

Freddie felt strange tingling in his chest. It was too much like the moment two years ago, except that now he knew better than to think anything of Michael. He just wanted to protect him - like a friend - keep him safe and take him the hell away from this place.

'Michael, can you hear me?'

Michael wrinkled his forehead.

'Uh – huh?'

'I'll go and tell Roger that I have to leave. Then we'll go to my apartment. How does that sound to you?'

'I'm not going anywhere.'

'You need to get some sleep. You're here alone, is that right?'

'Yes, but - '

'I'll be back in a minute.'

Freddie left and when he returned a few minutes later, he was surprised to find Michael still sitting right where he left him, staring into the distance. Freddie shook him awake and they exited the club from the back door.

'I have a room there', Michael slurred pointing at the hotel on the opposite side of the street. 'Take me there, please.'

'I think you should come with me.'

But Michael was adamant that he was going to spend his night at the hotel and there was no way Freddie could make him change his mind.

* * *

When Freddie opened the door to Michael's hotel room, his first impression was that it was a little messy compared to what he had seen in Encino: There were clothes all around, the bed was unmade and piles of books and drawings covered the table.

Michael went straight to the bathroom to remove his disguise and Freddie took a look at one of the books. It seemed to be a compliation of tales written by Edgan Allan Poe. He chuckled at the thought of Michael reading it: He well remembered the night when they had watched Hitch****'s _Psycho_ together, and at the time it had seemed like Michael wasn't enjoying himself that much.

Maybe he had changed since then. After all, if his memory served him right, Michael had also stated he was an absolutist. Which didn't seem to be the case, judging by his behavior tonight.

The bathroom door swung open and Freddie turned to look at Michael, who came out as himself, wearing a thick, white bathrobe. Freddie put the book away and looked down. He heard Michael climbing on the bed and wondered why he wasn't told to leave the room. After all, he thought Michael would be angry at him after what he did – even if it was years ago.

'Do you – do you feel better now?' Freddie asked and cleared his throat.

Michael laid on the bed, his hands under his head and gazed at him. Then he smiled.

'I'm good, thanks.'

'Do you need something? Like: are you hungry?'

'I don't need anything, Freddie', Michael answered tiredly and closed his eyes.

'Right. I'm just going to leave then. Okay?'

He headed to the door and was about to open it, when Michael said something.

'I beg your pardon?'

'Don't turn that handle. I wouldn't mind having someone to talk to. If - if you only have time.'

'Well, I guess I'm not in that much of a hurry', Freddie gulped and dropped his hand to his side. 'What do you want to talk about then?'

'Could you tell me something about Oscar? How is he like?'

Freddie looked at Michael surprised. So, not only had he been watching him but eavesdropping as well.

'He's my best friend, an orange cat. Very beautiful for a feline. What else do you want to know?'

'How old is he?'

'I don't know, I got him from - a friend.'

'I didn't know you have pets.'

'I only have cats. Two to be precise. The other is called Tiffany. She was a gift from Mary.'

There she was again, the mysterious Miss Mary.

Michael's eyes narrowed.

'Are you still friends?'

'With Mary? Yes we are. We have talked about this before, haven't we?'

Freddie eyed Michael suspiciously. But Michael's face didn't give away a thing.

'I've thought what you said about Mary... It kinda makes sense.'

'Michael, I don't think we should get there again.'

'Why shouldn't we? It's very interesting to me.'

'It may be interesting to you', Freddie hissed, 'but this is not some rare butterfly species we're talking about. It's my _life._'

'Mine as well.'

Freddie blinked and shut his mouth, bemused by the change in Michael's tone.

Michael looked grave. His smooth curls and dark complex contrasted with the bright robe and his slender hand rested on his knee.

Suddenly he was back to the moment when Michael had danced to Chopin's prelude and wanted nothing more than to touch Michael – not like he touched Andy or Tony or any of his lovers but touch him like he was the most precious thing imaginable.

And then, without warning, Michael raised his hand and motined for him to come over to the bed.

'What?' Freddie mused and blinked again.

'Come here.'

With unstable steps, Freddie walked over to him and sat on the corner of the bed, looking at Michael in awe the whole time. Michael seemed to be just as nervous as he was.

'Uh... I never got your answer – what are you doing in New York?'

'My favorite band gave a couple of concerts here', Michael explained, his voice wavering a bit, 'and I couldn't possibly miss them.'

Freddie's heart missed a beat.

'You still keep doing that?' Freddie asked confused. 'Going to our shows?'

'How could I stop?' Michael asked back shyly and blushed. 'I love your music. Very, very much.'

He appeared to be losing his confidence.

'Freddie, you don't even know what I went through after you, you, you... _Damn._'

Freddie gazed at him, baffled.

'Actually, it was even before that, when I started to... My mother... Joseph... _God._ I thought I was going insane. In a way I was - '

'Darling, slow down, I don't understand a word you say', Freddie whispered and took Michael's hand in his.

It was sweaty, just like his own.

'You say that to everyone', Michael sobbed.

'What? What did I say?'

'_Darling._ I saw you on TV... You were talking to that reporter.'

'So what? It's my bloody mannerism, that's all.'

'But you shouldn't say that if you don't mean it. It makes me think you don't mean a lot of things you say.'

'Like what?'

'Like... What you said to me. When we were in – in my kitchen.'

Freddie was in shock. He let go of Michael's hand and just stared at him. Michael stared back at him with eyes full of real pain.

All these years he had thought Michael didn't want anything to do with him – Michael, who couldn't understand homosexuality nor approved of it.

What on Earth had happened during these two years?

'I meant every word I said, Michael. I cared about you', Freddie said hesitantly. 'I still do care about you.'

'You do?' Michael asked like he couldn't believe his ears. 'What about... Andy?'

'Andy?' Freddie chuckled. 'Andy _who?_'

'The one you were with. In L.A. Don't you remember?'

'Oh him. Andy Jones, right? It was just a fling.'

'A _fling?_'

'Yeah, you know, they have those bath houses... For vile men like me.'

'Oh I see', Michael mumbled embarrassed. 'For vile men like you.'

They were silent for a moment. Then Freddie stated:

'It's pretty late.'

Michael cringed. Somewhere in the back of his head he knew that Freddie was about to leave. And now he wanted him to stay.

'No it isn't', he argued back.

'Michael - I had a show tonight. I'm exhausted.'

'You don't seem exhausted to me.'

'Well, I _am_.'

Michael looked at him challengingly.

'You can sleep here.'

Freddie gulped. How could he possibly resist that offer? But he knew he shouldn't. Michael wasn't in his right state of mind. He couldn't take advantage of that.

'I can't sleep with you, Michael.'

'Why not?' Michael purred, a strange twinkle in his eyes.

Then - all of a sudden - he grabbed Freddie's head and kissed him softly on the lips.

Freddie jerked his head away, in shock.

'What do you think are you doing?' he yelped, deeply upset.

'I'm so sorry', Michael stammered out. 'Please forgive me.'

'It's not that... It's that... Do you _know_ what you're doing? What you're getting yourself into?'

Michael smiled sadly.

'I've tried telling myself that I don't... But then again, why would I be here if I didn't?' he whispered.

Freddie raised his hand and ran it through Michael's black curls. When Michael closed his eyes, he stopped for a moment, fearing that he had misunderstood something. But Michael urged him to continue and gasped when he slid his hand down his back.

'Michael, are you - '

'Say my name again.'

'Michael.'

'And _again_.'

'He wants this', Freddie thought, in disbelief. 'I can't believe this - what if he regrets this tomorrow?'

But Michael, who saw Freddie's hesitation, took a hold of the front of his black collar shirt and pulled him close so that he could whisper in his ear:

'Don't worry. I'm not as pure and innocent as you think.'

Michael's lips brushed against his ear. His own fingertips danced on Michael's bare shoulder blade. Michael trembled. His bathrobe dropped to his waist, exposing his lean torso.

'Could you turn off the lights, please?' he pleaded and Freddie obeyed willingly.


	15. Larks and Remarks

Chapter Fifteen

**LARKS AND REMARKS**

* * *

_He is here._ That's all Freddie could think when he watched Michael sleep.

He laid on his side, facing Freddie. His lips were swollen – from kissing, Freddie liked to think – he had his arm under his head and his hair was ruffled. His face muscles were totally relaxed, unlike when he was awake.

Freddie was moved. No matter what would happen next, he would never forget last night. He had already give up the hope, thought that he could never, ever have his love reciprocated... and then **BAM!** - out of the blue - Michael kissed him and everything changed.

As a matter of fact, Freddie shouldn't even be that surprised - Michael wasn't the most predictable creature to walk the Earth after all.

Even still, this was beyond his wildest dreams; However, he already knew Michael could have a change of heart in a blink of an eye. He had no idea what to expect once he woke up - and probably it wasn't anything to look forward to.

But he wanted to find out, no matter what.

Freddie slid his hand along the silk sheets until his fingers almost touched Michael's cheek. Very slowly, he raised his index finger and stroked Michael's soft, peachy cheek with it.

Michael grunted and quivered. Then he took in a long breath, yawned and opened his eyes.

He looked at Freddie wide-eyed, blinked once, blinked twice and a confused look spread across his face.

'Good morning for you too', Freddie greeted him in a hoarse voice.

Michael nodded in response and brought his hands to his own shoulders.

Not until now he seemed to realize that he didn't have any clothes on and a delicate shade of red appeared on his face.

'Where's my bathrobe?' he inquired in a quiet, shy voice.

Freddie handed the garment to him.

'Thanks', Michael muttered and put on the robe under the bed covers, making sure Freddie couldn't see a square inch of his exposed skin.

Once he was finished, he got up and slipped into the bathroom.

Some ten minutes later, he returned fully dressed and full make-up on. Freddie was still in his boxers. He could tell Michael did his best to avoid looking at his bare chest.

'So – how are you doing today?' Freddie asked cautiously.

Michael shrugged.

'I don't know', he mumbled.

'No headache?'

Michael snorted and shook his head.

'No', he said smiling. 'No headache.'

'Good', Freddie commented and scratched the back of his neck.

Michael bit his lip. Freddie chuckled and looked at him, amused.

'What?'

'Nothing', Freddie replied, grinning.

'Are you laughing at me?' Michael asked, puzzled.

'Yes, I'm laughing at you.'

'Why?'

'Because you're too cute.'

Michael's whole face was now bright red.

'There's nothing cute about me', he muttered embarrassed. 'Nothing at all.'

Freddie grinned widely. He decided to test the waters.

'Oh yes there is. Although I could also add 'sexy' to the list.'

Michael shaded his eyes with his hand.

He didn't know what to make out of this. Was Freddie even being serious? What if he had forgotten what happened the last night? What if Michael was just another conquest of his?

Michael had arrived in New York two days ago – his and Quincy's friendship had become strained ever since they started working on the new album and now Michael had come to the point where he couldn't stand him any longer. They didn't agree on a damn thing and last week had been a disaster. He needed some space and fresh air, far from everything that reminded him of Quincy and his everyday life, and since he knew _Queen_was touring the States again, he had been more than ready to leave Encino for the 'Big Apple' and attend their concert.

Yes, he saw the shows but _didn't_ expect to bump into Freddie in the Studio 54 after the second show. After Michael saw him enter, he couldn't take his eyes off him.

He knew he had fallen in love – and he had it real bad. After Freddie kissed him almost exactly two years ago, he had been horrified by his own initial reaction: how much he had wanted to keep Freddie close, hold on to him.

First he had tried to make himself believe that what he was feeling wasn't romantic by nature. But then, gradually, bit by bit, he had come to realize that there was more to it than he thought.

He would woke up at nights, in sweats, after dreaming about him, found himself staring at his pictures, caught himself thinking about him whenever he kissed Brooke – and when he met Stevie during an adventurous visit to a bar and found out that the other man was gay, he knew there was no turning back.

He was in love. With a man. And that man was Freddie.

He continued to see Stevie, however, and every time he did, he regretted it afterwards, praying for salvation and forgiveness. Because he was doing wrong. He didn't even dare to imagine what would happen to him if anyone in his family ever got to know about this.

But just like Freddie put it, it wasn't something he could control. He was addicted to the comfort that the feeling brought to him, addicted to the thought that someone in the world loved him so much they were ready to go such lenghts as Freddie had gone to tell him how much they cared about him... It was like the whole world had been split in two and to this day Michael didn't know what to do about it.

His religion didn't allow this, but he couldn't control his thoughts. He was betraying Brooke in more way than one, but he didn't want to tell her for the fear of losing her. His career was important him - but so was Freddie.

However, now that he scrutinized Freddie, who sat on the bed oblivious to what was running through his mind, he was no longer sure if this was a path he should choose.

First of all: could he trust that man? He had made Stevie sign a confidentiality agreement, but Michael was pretty sure Freddie would never comply to that. Secondly: He didn't know Freddie all that well. He was virtually a stranger... An important stranger, but a stranger nevertheless.

'Michael, you should stop reading into things too much', Freddie spoke all of a sudden. 'Things aren't as complicated as you think.'

God, could Freddie read his thoughts even? Or was his inner turmoil that obvious?

Why couldn't he just let it all go and stop thinking so much?

'I don't know what you mean', Michael stated diplomatically and sat in an armchair in the corner of the bedroom.

'Whatever', Freddie replied. 'But you know what I mean.'

An awkward silence fell over the room. Freddie started to put on his clothes while Michael tried to come up with something intelligent to say.

His heart beat faster when he heard someone walk past their door.

What if someone came in and found them there? What if they already knew Freddie had spent the night in his room, despite his attempts to cover up his real identity?

'What are you doing tonight?'

The question caught Michael off guard.

'What did you say?' he asked with an apologetic smile.

Freddie stood at the door. Michael became alarmed as he saw he was about to leave.

'I asked you if you had anything planned for tonight.'

'Why?'

Michael slapped himself mentally. Of course he knew what Freddie was driving at.

'Because... I think it would be for the best if I left you alone for now. But I would like to take you out on a date, if you don't mind.'

'On a – date?' Michael repeated like Freddie had spoken a foreign language. 'Where?'

'Just make sure you have your mustache on and meet me in front of the main entrance at 6PM. I'll come and get you and take care of the rest.'

Michael giggled shyly.

'Are you sure you're gonna recognize me?' he asked half-serious. 'What if I change my look?'

'Oh, believe me - there's no way I couldn't know it was you, no matter what you end up wearing', Freddie replied and winked at him.

Then he bowed briefly, gave Michael a wistful look and walked out of the door.


	16. Airplanes

Chapter Sixteen

**AIRPLANES**

* * *

****At 6PM sharp, Freddie pulled up in front of the hotel and looked around, trying to see whether Michael was already waiting for him. But he was nowhere to be seen.

However, as soon as the car had stopped moving, the front door was opened and a fat, veiled old lady got into the front seat and banged the door shut. Freddie looked at the lady in dismay.

'Um - are we in the wrong car here?'

'It's me, silly', Michael whispered and Freddie couldn't but congratulate him for the transformation: not in a million years could anyone have figured out who the person in a female fat suit really was.

They didn't talk much during the drive to the Japanese restaurant Freddie had hand-picked for the occasion, knowing they had a private cabinet where he and Michael could dine in peace. Only when they were about to arrive to the destination did Michael ask where Freddie was taking him and was pleased to find out that Freddie shared his taste for sushi.

'It looks very nice in here', he stated as they sat at a small square table and raised the veil so that he could see better.

Freddie could tell he was pretty nervous and couldn't blame him: when he tried to tell Michael about his numerous trips to Japan, he soon realized that he had lost the track of what he was saying.

'Uh, sorry', he muttered, embarrassed. 'Would you like to drink something? Have you ever tasted sake?'

Michael raised his eyebrows.

'What's that?'

'Rice wine.'

'Oh, no I haven't.'

'Then lets do it.'

The waiter brought both of them a cup – _choko_ – and Michael sipped from it.

'How is it?' Freddie inquired, genuinely interested.

Michael snorted and tilted the cup so that he could see the cloudy liquid better.

'I'm not sure...' he stated hesitantly, putting the cup back on the table. 'A bit salty.'

'Oh, you liar. Just say you hated it', Freddie retorted.

'Okay, I didn't - '

'Tell me you hated it.'

'I don't - '

However, Michael couldn't continue as he saw Freddie's face.

His eyes were laughing and they twinkled so beautifully... And they twinkled at him and him only. For a moment, Michael wanted nothing more than to take his hand, touch his cheek – anything would do.

But he couldn't bring himself to actually make a move.

'Michael?' Freddie asked, distracted by his intense stare.

'Yes?' Michael asked in a husky voice that made Freddie's heart leap from excitement.

Out of impulse, he placed his hand on Michael's.

Michael jerked. He glanced at the hand and immediately looked around in the cabinet, fearing that someone would see them.

'I'm sorry', Freddie whispered, drawing his hand away.

Michael shook his head in embarrassment. Here they were again: Freddie being his wonderful, brave self and he shying away like a coward. Quietly, he took another sip of sake.

'Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?' Freddie asked boldly, leaning forward so that Michael could hear him better. 'You're so young and you look like you couldn't hurt a basilli, but even if you were a furious, 800-pound bull you couldn't make me feel more intimidated right now.'

Michael shot a surprised look at him. Freddie gave him an encouraging smile in return and determinedly took his hand again.

'Michael, what I want now is to make you stop worrying and being nervous for no reason. Nobody here knows whom I'm having a dinner with and I'm planning to make sure it will always stay that way.'

Then Freddie kissed his palm tenderly before letting go of his hand. Michael jumped as, only seconds later, the waitress came back and brought them a full plate of sushi rolls.

* * *

After the dinner, they exited the restaurant from a back door and headed towards Freddie's car, which was parked in a nearby alley. Sake had made Michael a little light-headed and now that he felt safe and secure, he let himself enjoy the excitement of the night life and giggled happily.

'God I love this city', he breathed, smiling. 'That's incredible: seven million people all wanting to live together. How sweet is that?'

Freddie chuckled.

'You're a romantic.'

'No, really! Hey, look!'

'What?' Freddie asked alarmed.

'Not there, silly. _Stars._'

Now Freddie understood. He looked up and there was the sky, strongly lit by the city lights, but nevertheless he could find a couple of constellations in it. They leaned against the hood of Freddie's car, their hands entangled, and watched in silence how airplanes shoot through the night sky that stretched to the end of the Earth above them.


	17. Miles Apart Yet Close to Heart

Chapter Seventeen

**MILES APART YET CLOSE TO HEART**

* * *

****'Welcome home, Michael!'

Michael smiled as he stepped over the threshold and was immediately embraced by the loving arms of Martha.

'You look wonderful, my dear!' Martha stated as she let go of him. 'I guess a little trip to the Big Apple did good for you!'

'Yes it did', Michael acknowledged, beaming.

'Indeed, you glow like a fluorescent lamp. Your mum will be so pleased to see you like that, she's in the garden with your little sister.'

'Okay, thanks Martha.'

When Martha disappeared into the kitchen to check on lunch, he continued to walk into the living room, stopping here and there to look at some piece of furniture or at some picture on the well. What he was really doing, however, was trying to take in the fact he was back to home again: this morning he had woken up in his hotel room bed in New York, next to Freddie, and now it all felt like a dream.

A part of him was relieved he was in his comfortable home, returning to the comfortable routines of everyday life, but the other half of him longed for Freddie's presence. It would be another month until they would see again since Freddie would be touring and Michael wasn't out of work either.

'God I'm happy', he said to himself as he watched the sun go down the hills of Encino, touching the window glass with his lips. 'If he only was here...'

He reminisced for a moment how Freddie's lips had felt when they had kissed goodbye in the doorway of his hotel room: his moustache, which tickled a little, and soft fingertips that traveled across his back.

_Why the time had run out so damn fast?_

Sighing, Michael opened his eyes and decided to join his mother and sister in the garden before they would go searching for him.

* * *

Freddie was tired. Once again, a brilliant show – although some parts were not as brilliant as he would have liked – but he thought about it no longer. Instead, his attention moved on to the cold beer waiting for him on the green room table. And to Mary, who had been following the show backstage.

Mary gave Freddie a small smile as he fell into an armchair in front of a fireplace a nice pint of foaming ale in his hand. She was leafing through a _Rolling Stone_ number, uninterested.

'So, how was it?' she asked after a while, when it became apparent Freddie wasn't going to initiate the conversation. 'It sounded awesome to me.'

'That's my job, being awesome and stuff', Freddie stated confidently.

Mary's smile broadened.

'I love you', she said warmly.

'You know that I love you too, darling.'

'You seem happy to me. Are you seeing someone?'

Freddie glanced quickly at Mary.

'Perhaps I am... not.'

Mary raised an eyebrow.

'Really? Apparently I have something to catch up on.'

Freddie shrugged and took a long swig from the pint.

'Oh bother, when did _Rolling Stone_ turn into a cesspit of gossip? This is really low.'

Freddie turned his head to see what Mary was holding up for him.

It was a double page spread of Rolling Stone magazine. The other page was a huge picture of Michael with Brooke, holding hands on the red carpet. A provocative headline on the top of the next page stated:

**MICHAEL JACKSON & BROOKE SHIELDS:  
**_**– Number One Nomination for the Oddest Couple of the Century?**_

'And why should I be interested' Freddie snapped, a chilly tone in his voice.

'Why so sensitive? Oh hi Peter.'

Freddie frowned as he raised his eyes to meet his assistant's.

'What now?'

'Nothing', Peter said, but gave Freddie a look that told him he should know better than to ask. 'We're going to hit the bars, are you two going to join us or not?'

* * *

'Freddie, are you okay?' Mary asked worried a couple of hours later as they stood alone at the bar waiting for their drinks.

Music was loud and the place was full of middle-aged hippies whose sweat smelt of wet hemp and white onions.

'What do you mean? I'm kicking even if I'm not chit-chatting all the time.'

'Well, you haven't uttered a word in past two hours and that's not you. What is it? Can you tell me about it?'

Freddie scratched his neck and smiled at Peter, who motioned at them to come to the dance floor.

'Peter is _wasted_.'

'Don't you try to change the topic', Mary went on. 'You are so going to tell me about it.'

'Alright then. Mary, you know ever since I came out I haven't been secretive about my sexual preferences – at all?'

'I guess you could put it that way.'

Mary looked a bit sad and Freddie kissed her temple.

'Don't get it wrong, darling.'

'It's okay. Now, why are you asking?'

'I'm asking because I know I have no problem with who I am... and this whole publicity image thing has started to grow up on me.'

'Where are you getting at?'

Freddie took a deep breath.

'I'm 36 and going to be 37 in a month. I want to live my life and share it with someone special. I hope I don't have to mention another time that no one will ever replace you', he smiled at Mary who smiled back at him, 'but because I'm also very gay, it has to be someone more male.'

Mary laughed and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

'Mary, you know the feeling when you're in love but still something seems slightly off?'

Mary chuckled awkwardly.

'Yeah. When _we_ were together.'

Freddie grimaced.

'Exactly. Even though I'm not as young and loose-brained as back then, I fear that I'm again in - '

'I'm sorry, it's busy in here', the bartender interrupted. 'Here.'

'Thank you', Mary said, not taking her eyes off Freddie.

'Good gracious, Freddie Mercury himself!'

'Time to go, darling', Freddie stated and steered Mary towards where the others sat.


	18. What You Leave Behind

Chapter Eighteen

**WHAT YOU LEAVE BEHIND...**

* * *

****Tears fell down Brooke's cheeks. However, those were tears of happiness, because today was the wedding day of Charlotte's friends, Rebecca and Tony, and just to see a just-married couple sharing a kiss of love made her feel weak at knees.

On her other side Charlotte, who was equally moved, kept patting her eyes with her lace handkerchief.

'Isn't that wonderful? They've gone through so many difficult years and finally it's happening...' she whispered to Brooke as Tony and Rebecca marched past them. 'Gosh, I want to get married too.'

Brooke hugged her, then looked at Michael, who stood a few feet away from them dressed in a black suit with red tie, silently following the wedding couple with his eyes. He didn't pay the slightest attention to the other guests, who constantly shot glances at him.

Brooke touched his arm lightly and Michael turned to look at her, perplexed.

'I need to go find a bathroom', she explained.

'Okay', Michael muttered absent-mindedly, although he didn't feel comfortable being left alone in the middle of a herd of people he didn't know.

'Mr. Jackson, is there any way we could hear your singing tonight?' Charlotte asked in a bright voice and smoothed her chestnut hair, which was done up in a high bun.

Michael grit his teeth.

_Of course she had to ask that._

'Erm... I'm not sure, I wasn't planning to.'

'Please, Tony and Rebecca would be over the _moon_ if you did. I swear.'

'I'll think about it', Michael promised, just to get rid of her.

He looked around, hoping it wouldn't take long for Brooke to come back. Soon his eyes fastened on a group of neatly dressed young men, who stood right behind Charlotte laughing and telling jokes. One of them was a tall, handsome man with a ruffled sandy blonde hair and all of a sudden it hit Michael.

_Steven._

It was like Steven felt someone watching him, because right at that moment he turned his head and saw Michael.

'Oh, hi Michael', he said, surprised. 'I didn't expect to see you here to be honest.'

Steven's friends turned to look who he was talking to and Michael could almost hear their jaws dropping, which made him even more uneasy.

'Uhm – me neither.'

Steven studied him for a moment.

'I haven't seen you in a long time. Could we talk?'

Steven's eyes were steady. Michael cringed. This was exactly the kind of situation he didn't want to get into. Why Steven, of all people, had to end up in a same wedding party as him and Brooke? All he wanted was to get a short break from the guilt and shame that haunted him everywhere.

Then he spotted Brooke on the other side of the room. She hadn't noticed them yet, but was soon about to.

_Great._

'Of course', he muttered and gestured him to follow him out of the doorway into the corridor, where there weren't as many people around.

'You haven't called for a while', Steven said as they had walked out of the earshot of the wedding guests.

'No I haven't', Michael said curtly.

'I've missed you, you know.'

_Oh God. Please, PLEASE don't say that._

'You look super hot in a black suit', Steven went on, undisturbed. _'Michael.'_

And as soon as he had said that, he kissed him straight on the lips.

Michael was shocked. Steven felt him tense up and backed off immediately.

'I'm sorry. I know this is not the place', he apologized, looking guilty.

'Steven', Michael blurted as soon as he recovered. 'I like you very much, but... We can't do this anymore.'

The other man frowned and his eyes narrowed.

'Why not? Oh, is it because of your girlfriend? Doesn't she already know your relationship is a sham?' he hissed in a chilly tone.

'It's _not_ a sham.'

'Yeah, right. Then tell me what it is.'

'It's none of your business', Michael said, getting more and more irritated by Steven's attitude. 'I do love her.'

'You go and try to tell that to the press once they find out about what you really are into.'

Steven's eyes flashed dangerously and the hair in the back of Michael's neck stood up.

'You wouldn't leak that to them, would ya?'

Steven shrugged, a gloomy expression on his face.

'Don't you forget that we had an agreement, Steven.'

The other man rolled his eyes and gave Michael a lopsided smile.

'Don't be afraid, baby: I'm not that kind of guy. However, I think you should be aware of the fact that things like that won't stay as a secret. If it's not me, then it's someone else.'

'No, you don't understand. No one will ever know about what happened if you keep your mouth shut', Michael snapped.

'Well, if Michael Jackson says so', Steven stated, but didn't sound very convinced. 'And after all, that's your headache, not mine.'

Michael's jaw tightened. He didn't want to admit it, but deep in his heart he knew Steven was telling the truth. After what had happened in New York, he hadn't given the whole thing a second thought, but now that he did... How in the world he was going to keep his and Freddie's affair as a secret? It was only a matter of time when someone would walk in on them at the wrong moment and find out, just like he had found out about Freddie by walking in on him and Andy.

'It must be so hard to be famous. I'd hate living my life pretending and lying to people. Do even your parents know?'

'Like I said, it's none of your business.'

'Fine.'

Steven raised his hand and stroked Michael's cheek gently. Michael's eyes closed involuntarily at the familiar touch.

'I really like you, Michael. Remember you can always call me if you need anything, okay?'

Michael stood still for a long time after Steven's footsteps faded. All the happiness in his heart had quickly become replaced by fear and uncertainty. Moreover, Freddie's words kept ringing in his mind, adding to his anxiety:

_Do you know what you're doing? What you're getting yourself into? Do you know what you're doing?_

'Your career, your family, your religion, Brooke... Your reputation. Are you sure you are ready to pay that high of a price?' a little voice in his head accompanied. 'Are you?'

'I don't know', he finally admitted to himself. 'I sure as hell don't know if I am.'


	19. The Reunion

Chapter Nineteen

**THE REUNION**

* * *

****Freddie looked out of the car window.

The weather was sunny and warm just like it had been the last time he visited California. Palm trees lined the either side of the street and giant mansions – each bigger and more majestic than the last – served as an eye candy for the eyes of the passer-by.

Suddenly Freddie saw a familiar gingerbread-like tower appear in the horizon and smiled broadly at the sight because he knew to which house that tower belonged.

As the car drove through the security gates and finally pulled up in front of the garages of the mock-tudor mansion, Freddie didn't want to jump out straight away but closed his eyes and got lost in his thoughts for a brief moment.

Michael had called him after the last night's show and asked him to come and pay him a visit. However, he didn't know how he was going to be received. He hadn't seen Michael since July and on the phone they had only talked about everyday stuff: Michael's new album, his tour schedule.

Not a word about what had happened back in New York.

'We've arrived at the destination', the chauffeur announced all of a sudden and grinned as he took a look in the rear-view window and caught Freddie daydreaming. '4641 Hayvenhurst Ave, Mr. Mercury.'

'Thank you', Freddie muttered, absent-minded, and took a deep breath before he pushed open the car door and stepped out.

Once outside, he turned around and his heart skipped a beat when he spotted Michael sitting at the marble fountain, reading a book. While he was wathing, Michael raised his head and his mouth opened in surprise. Then his face melted into a delighted smile. He stood up and closed the book as Freddie approached him.

'Hi', Freddie said and his voice shook a little as he halted in front of the younger man.

The southerly breeze blew Michael's curls and the bright Californian sun made his eyes sparkle. The two men looked each other in the eye for a long time without uttering a single word. Michael shivered and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. Then he reached out his hand but changed his mind and instead said simply:

'Follow me.'

Freddie nodded.

Michael took him deeper into the garder until the mansion could barely be seen from the trunks of trees. Then he suddenly stopped walking, twirled around and kissed Freddie with all-the pent up passion of the long days of waiting for this moment. Freddie answered to his kiss with equal fervor and cupped his head with both hands.

'God I've missed you so much', Michael breathed when the heated kiss broke into a coda of smaller pecks. 'I don't even know why, but I do.'

Freddie only smiled and pulled Michael into a tight embrace, breathing in his unique scent.

'I wasn't sure what to expect to be honest.'

'How come?' Michael asked, confused.

'Well, let's just say that the paths of your thoughts are so wonderfully winding I've gone astray more than once trying to figure you out', Freddie chuckled. 'However, I'm glad to find out I'm on the right track for a change.'

'You're silly', Michael giggled and shoved him gently in the chest. 'Now you have to tell me everything. What's going on in your life?'

Freddie laughed heartily.

'What would you think? Beer, singing, cats, women...'

Michael furrowed his brow.

'Women?'

'Just kidding.'

The younger man snorted, not totally amused. Freddie noticed this and placed a tender kiss on his lips.

'Also: I have spent quite a lot time thinking about you', he said, tilting his head.

Michael's face lit up and a playful glint appeared in his eyes.

'For real?'

'Yes, Michael: for real', Freddie said, dead-serious. 'Is that news to you?'

'Yes it is', Michael replied quietly. 'You make me blush.'

He hid his face behind the book and turned away. Freddie grabbed his upper arms and pulled Michael against his chest.

He decided to tease him a little.

'Am I totally wrong', he whispered in his ear, 'if I think you've been dreaming of something like... this?'

Freddie massaged one of Michael's temples with his fingertips in slow, sensual circles, making the younger man sigh in pleasure.

'No... You got that spot on', Michael murmured, trying had not to lose control.

'Well, in that case... Am I wrong, if I think I can drive you crazy by doing... this?'

Now he slid his hands lower down Michael's hips and heard him gasp aloud.

'Stop, you're making me...'

'Maybe that's exactly what I'm planning to do', Freddie purred in a low voice and Michael let out a little moan as he felt a hot pair of lips travel down his jawline and further down his neck.

From that moment on, he was totally at Freddie's mercy. But it didn't matter because it felt _so - damn - good._


	20. The Little Boy Called Trevor

Chapter Twenty

**THE LITTLE BOY CALLED TREVOR AND OTHER PROMISES**

* * *

Michael threw a pillow at Freddie, who gave him a warning look in return.

'That was a three thousand dollar pillow right there', he said and shook his finger at him. 'This is my hotel room. Think about it, young punk.'

'Oh _punk._ Did you just call me a punk, you old walrus?' Michael teased and Freddie, who had been walking toward him intending to disarm him (Michael had already grabbed a new pillow, even bigger than the last), came to a halt.

'Walrus?' he asked, disbelieved. 'How come?'

Michael grinned mischievously.

'Well, you look like one with your moustache... And your teeth!'

'Now you've crossed the line, dirty bugger!'' Freddie yelled and tackled Michael to the bed.

Michael yelped and managed to wiggle out from under the other man but when he attempted to get up from the bed, Freddie grabbed a hold of his wrist and forced him back down.

'Help! Help!' Michael shouted, giggling. 'Security!'

Suddenly the door burst open and the men jumped apart, almost falling from the bed.

In an instant, both men turned scarlet. Peter mached past them to the sofa shaking his head but didn't mention anything about what he just walked into.

It was now the third day after Freddie arrived to Los Angeles and ever since they had been inseperable: Freddie followed Michael to the recording studio and Michael had attended both of the Inglewood concerts by _Queen_. Most of the free time they spent in Freddie's hotel room, where there was a lower risk of getting in trouble.

'So – what shall we do tonight?' Freddie asked in a low voice when Peter's attention returned to the TV screen. 'What would you like to do?'

'What about a ride?'

'You mean... in the car?'

'Of course, what were you thinking? Actually, I don't wanna know', he added quickly after he saw Freddie's face. 'Let me out, the air is getting stuffy in here.'**  
**

* * *

Freddie turned the wheel of his rented Cadillac with one hand and whistled as he drove down a freeway. The car radio was playing softly and Michael snapped his fingers to the music singing along to the familiar Tina Turner tunes with his a black fedora pulled over his eyes.

'Do you have a plan?' he asked Freddie during an instrumental break. 'Because I'd like to go somewhere.'

Michael gave Freddie the instructions and after fifteen minutes they pulled up to the curb in front of house that was surrounded by a low white wooden fence. Freddie had no idea whatsoever what Michael was up to, but he was intrigued to find out.

'Where are you going?' he questioned when Michael stepped out of the car.

'A sec.'

Michael opened the gate and ran up the stairs that led to the front door of the house. He was nervous. It had been two years. He wasn't sure if Trevor's family even lived in the house anymore.

He ringed the doorbell. No one answered and Michael was just about to give up and leave when the door suddenly cracked open and the head of a middle-aged black woman – whom Michael recognized as Trevor's mother – peeked out. She almost jumped as she saw Michael and when she spoke, her voice was a quiet whisper and full of astonishment.

'Good evening... Oh mine. Trevor Jones', she called and her son immediately appeared on her side.

Michael could see his big brown eyes widening.

'Michael Jackson', was all that the eleven-year-old could get out of his mouth. 'Michael Jackson.'

'Hi', Michael greeted and smiled a little. 'I came back, as I promised. Do you remember when we met, a couple of years ago?'

Trevor frowned and tried to remember. Then out of the blue a wide grin spread across his face and he tugged his mother's sleeve.

'I was _you!_ I knew it! Mum! Michael Jackson has come to teach me how to dance!'

'Yes I have', Michael agreed, pleased that Trevor hadn't forgot their brief but meaningful meeting. 'Can I come in?'

'Why do you even ask?' Trevor's mother laughed and opened the door wider. 'Your friend can come too', she said and nodded at Freddie, who had got out of the car without Michael noticing and stood now right behind him holding up the fedora Michael had left in the car.

'Thank you, Freddie', Michael said at once, snatched the fedora and put it on Trevor's head. 'It's yours now.'

* * *

'Weren't they friendly people?' Michael asked proudly when he and Freddie were back to the car after spending a heart-warming evening with the Jones family. 'I wish everyone was like that.'

'Yeah, I liked them a lot', Freddie agreed and settled behind the wheel. 'How did you meet Trevor?'

'Well, we were strolling about with Brooke one evening... We used to do that a lot. I was disguised as usual. Then I saw this little boy staring at me. And he just stared and stared and I was already convinced he knew who I was until he asked Brooke why her boyfriend was so old!'

Michael held his stomach laughing. He stopped, however, when he saw Freddie's morose expression.

'What now?' he frowned. 'Did I say something?'

Freddie turned the key in the ignition and the motor rumbled to life under them. Michael watched the muscles in his cheeks ripple as he ground his teeth together.

'I could have told me', he muttered to himself and slapped his hand against his forehead while gripping the wheel with the other. 'Damn I'm stupid.'

'I don't understand. Told you what?' Michael asked confused and placed his hand onto Freddie's shoulder.

Freddie swiped it away.

'About you and Brooke.'

The obvious tint of jealousy in Freddie's voice flattered him. But Michael knew he was serious and to be honest he didn't want to touch the topic of him and Brooke with Freddie. It was way too complicated.

So he decided to play stupid.

'Me and Brooke? What do you mean?'

'You know well what I mean. Brooke is your _girlfriend_, you just said that yourself'

'Come on, that was over two years ago...'

'No. I saw you in a magazine two weeks ago. _The Oddest Couple of the Century_, go figure.'

'That's tabloid trash, don't believe it.'

'Michael, please don't lie to me. It only makes it worse.'

The way he said it provoked Michael enough he threw all the caution to the wind and took a firm hold of Freddie's arm, causing the car to swerve.

'Michael, are you crazy? Do you want to get us killed?' Freddie shrieked.

'Stop the car.'

'No, I'm driving you home.'

'Don't be an idiot, Freddie. Right now. _Please._'

Finally Freddie consented to bringing the car to a stop but not without apprehension.

It was already dark outside and the chilly autumn wind howled through the trees. Michael's fingers played with the buttons of his jacket as he tried to decide where to start.

'Me and Brooke... It isn't as simple as you think.'

'Well, that much is clear already. Because I thought it was as simple as _nothing_.'

'No, listen', Michael said raising his voice a notch. 'I asked her to be my girl once. I liked her. But that was before I met you.'

'I'm not like you, you know', he went on. 'I have been brought up in a different kind of way, to detest and condemn everyone who doesn't live according to the Bible. I wish I could show you how much pain and self-loathing I had to go through to reach this point, it didn't happen in one night.'

'What didn't happen?'

Freddie's attitude was really pushing his buttons now.

'The _change_, Freddie, don't be an idiot. You remember how I was like until... until you kissed me for the first time? I couldn't even imagine ever getting into that kind of situation. Afterwards I was so upset that I stopped eating and then the feeling just grew to the point where I didn't know who I was anymore. I even stopped going to the church because I no longer believe in what a proper Jehovah's Witness should believe in.'

Michael shifted so that his head was resting against the head rest and closed his eyes. He didn't dare to check whether Freddie was listening to him or not.

'I wish I could be like you, proud and brave. But I can't. My family would hate to find out about this side of mine, they wouldn't get it at all.'

'Then what about Brooke? Does she know?'

Michael squinted his eyes and crossed his arms.

He shook his head.

'I think you should tell her then.'

'I can't.'

'Why can't you?'

Michael flinched. How could he? Brooke wasn't maybe homophobic to same degree as he had been, but she was still in belief that he was her boyfriend and her boyfriend only. Damn it, he had even tried to make love to her once.

'Because she still thinks you're dating her?'

Michael felt awful. How could he do this for Brooke? And for a such a long time? She was such a great friend.

Moreover, how could he tell her now, after two years?

'Penny for your thoughts, darling.'

Michael jumped as Freddie took his hand and squeezed it. Michael looked at him and was surprised to find his tender eyes gazing back at him.

'Michael, I don't ask you to tell the whole world about who you are sleeping with. That's not the point. But if you want to be with me, you have to tell Brooke. It's not fair on her – or on me, for that matter.'

'I know, I know', Michael mumbled and let his head fall on Freddie's shoulder, relieved that he was no longer pressuring him. 'I'll talk to her.'

He looked up and their eyes locked.

'I love you', Michael said and he meant it from the bottom of his heart.

Freddie smiled.

'I love you too', he whispered and bent down to kiss him. 'Promise me you tell her, alright?'

'I promise', Michael said.

And with that he climbed into Freddie's lap.

He tried to grab his waist but Michael pushed his arms down and pinned them to the car seat with his knees.

'Oh, so it's Mr. Jackson who's in control this time?' Freddie giggled as Michael took off his jacket and shirt and tossed them to the side.

'What do you mean by "this time"?' Michael teased and caressed his neck with his thumb.

Then he kissed the same spot. Freddie freed his other hand and placed it on Michael's lower back. Through his lowered lashes, he saw spots of moonlight dancing on the bare skin on Michael's back. Very slowly, he trailed his fingers up his spine and sunk them into Michael's thick, oily curls. Michael closed his eyes and made a long hissing sound.

An old man walked past the parked Cadillac and perked up his ears as he heard noise coming from inside.

'Oh young love', he mused to himself, smiled at the moon and kept on walking along the lonely road, disappearing into the shadows of the trees.


	21. It Ain't Easy Being a Jackson

Chapter Twenty-One

**IT AIN'T EASY BEING A JACKSON**

* * *

****Freddie stood in the window looking down at the garden that bathed in the morning sunlight and took a long drag of his cigarette. Michael sneaked behind him and wrapped his arms around his shirtless chest.

'You should quit smoking, you know', he whispered into his ear. 'It ain't good for your lungs.'

Freddie shrugged and took another puff.

'You won't get another kiss from me if you keep on.'

'Oh I wont?' Freddie said and stole a smooch from his lover. ' I bet!'

'You smelly...' Michael started but was cut off by a loud knocking on the door.

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK_

'Excuse me', he scowled at Freddie and ran to open the door.

'What is it?' he spat out at Annie, although relieved that it was her and no one else.

'It's your father.'

Michael felt like someone had hit him over the head with a baseball bat. He thanked Annie curtly and slammed the door shut.

'Freddie', he said then, not moving from his spot. 'Could you move to the guest room? And please take your things with ya, I've to go downstairs.'

'Huh?' Freddie said tapping ash from the end of his cigarette. 'Who is it?'

'Joseph. Please, I'm serious. This is urgent.'

'Alright.'

Freddie dumped his cigarette and Michael watched him collect his clothes and kissed him quickly before he went.

Then he straightened up and checked himself in the mirror that hang on the wall next to the door.

With a sigh, he finally turned the handle and headed down the stairs.

* * *

'There you are, son. At last.'

Joseph Jackson's smirk was close to devious and Michael knew exactly what was hidden behind it. He stood in the other side of the room, in a pimp suit and a several sizes too small bowler hat adorning his greasy head.

'I see you've put on weight since I saw you last?' he snarled in a demonic voice and scrutinized him from head to toe. 'I reckon you have.'

It took all of Michael's mental strenght not to turn into a wild, ravenous beast and beat his father up for that remark.

'Be careful, girls don't like chubby boys.'

'Like yourself', Michael added silently in his mind.

Joseph looked around in the room and stopped to examine an expensive-looking ancient sculpture in the corner of the saloon. Michael watched him with clenched fists, fighting to swallow the burning anger he felt inside. Joseph had only two reasons to come here: either to push him to make another tour with his brothers or to ask for money.

_Or both._

'Well, son, have you talked to your brothers lately?'

So it was about the tour.

'No I haven't', Michael said and was surprised by how calm and collected he sounded to his own ears.

'Well, it so happens that I have. They would like to have a serious conversation with you.'

'Concerning the new album or the tour?'

'Both.'

Michael groaned. He was so fed up with his brothers. He wanted to do things of his own, for a chance, like this new album of his. It was going to be something else, not just a cheesy catalogue of poorly harmonized soul ballads.

'I'm kinda busy now with my own stuff and everything. I have an albuming coming out in a few months. I don't have time for any other projects right now.'

Joseph's smug fake grin vanished in seconds and was replaced by a cold, hard mask.

'Don't you talk to me like that, boy', he hissed using his most threatening tone. 'You'll make room for this project in that schedule of yours, dammit.'

Michael instinctively took a step backwards, but then he shook himself mentally.

No. He was a boy no longer. He was a succesful young man, he was capable of making a living for the whole family.

Also, this was his house, not Josephs. He would not him get the better of him anymore.

'I didn't say I wouldn't do it. But right now, I don't have the time. _Period._'

Joseph halted and looked at him like he had lost his mind.

'You son of a _*****._'

Michael blinked a few times but kept his composure.

'One day you'll realize that no matter hard you try, no matter where you go, you will never be anything. You're nothing without your brothers, absolutely nothing._ Nothing, nothing, nothing._'

He was now only inches away from Michael's face and Michael could see clearly how his eyeballs bulged in their sockets. The sight made him sick.

'Think about it, son.'

And with those words Joseph stormed out of the room and soon Michael could heard his car pull away in the street.

* * *

A few minutes later Freddie came down the stairs and found Michael in the living room staring into space.

'I hate him', Michael whispered. 'I hate, hate, hate him.'

Freddie didn't say anything but drew him into a hug but let go of him when he heard footsteps approaching.

It was Martha.

'Is everything alright? I saw Mr. Jackson leave in much haste.'

'Everything's fine.'

She gave Freddie a long, suspicious look.

'Good morning, sir.'

'Good morning, madam.'

'The breakfast is ready, if you will...'

Michael nodded and in silence they walked into the dining room, where Katherine sat alone drinking her morning coffee and staring out of the window.

'Was Joseph here?' she asked Michael feigning indifference.

She had most certainly heard the noisy quarrel, but there was an unwritten agreement in the family not to talk about what went on between Joseph and the children.

'Yes he was', Michael said and drew a chair from under the table, gesturing to Freddie to sit down besides him.

He was still shaking in the aftermath of the fight.

'Did you boys sleep well?' his mother changed the topic, taking a bite of her toast. 'I didn't know you stayed here overnight, Mr. Mercury, but you're welcome at any time of course.'

'We were at the studios and mistook the moon for the sun', Michael replied eloquently.

'I see', Katherine chuckled. 'My little moon child.'

Michael cracked a little smile. He liked that nickname.

'How are you this morning, Mrs. Jackson?' Freddie asked politely and by the twinkling of her eyes Michael could tell she liked him very much.

'Excellent, thank you so much for asking. How about you?'

'Very good, very good indeed.'

'I think my grandchildren are coming over later today. I'm looking forward to that, this big of a house feels so empty without children...'

'You mean Marlon's kids?'

'Valencia and Brittany, yes.'

Michael frowned. If Marlon was coming, it probably meant the other brothers were coming too and he didn't really care to see them.

'Also, Brooke popped in for coffee yesterday. She was hoping to meet you but I told her you two were recording.'

'Oh.'

Freddie and Michael exchanged looks.

Then Freddie stood up from the table.

'Excuse me, but I just remembered I have a meeting with my manager at eleven o'clock sharp', Freddie announced in an apologetic tone. 'Thank you for the delicious breakfast, Mrs. Katherine.'

'You're welcome.'

'I'll call you later', Michael said quietly. 'But I'll go see Brooke first'.

Freddie nodded, gave him a little wink and left.

* * *

Michael looked around in the room. The walls were nicely colored, maybe a little bit too pink for his taste but nicely colored nevertheless. Through the thin curtains he could see the silhouette of the city skyline against the orange blaze of the sky.

'Would you like to have some tee?' Brooke yelled from the kitchen.

'No thanks', Michael refused, got up and rubbed his arms nervously.

He walked up to a cupboard and looked at the photos on top of it. There were a few photos of him with Brooke, smiling, holding hands, walking on the red carpet like every other Hollywood couple.

'Oh, look at that sunset! Isn't that beautiful?'

Michael couldn't but agree.

'Gosh, this is why I love Los Angeles so much.'

'Uh – huh.'

Brooke tilted her head and looked at him pensively. She had her hairs in a ponytail and the green dress she was wearing hung elegantly over her lean shoulders.

'You seem quiet, Michael', she stated matter-of-factly. 'What are you thinking?'

'Nothing really.'

He grimaced. Brooke could see straight through him.

'I see', she said slowly. 'So - how is it with Freddie?'

Now Michael literally jumped. He stared at her bewildered.

'Wha – wha – what do you mean?'

Brooke raised one of her nearly plucked eyebrows.

'Nothing, I just heard from your mum that you're working together', she explained. 'So - you're friends again?'


	22. The Question

Chapter Twenty-Two

**THE QUESTION**

* * *

****Brooke's dazzlingly blue eyes gazed at him questioningly and her instense stare made him feel extremely uncomfortable in his skin.

He loved her dearly and he didn't want to lose her. But how would she react if he told her about him and Freddie?

He knew she was overall very accepting – _she_ was the one who had been defending Freddie when they found out about him – but this was a whole another thing. First of all, she was his girlfriend. No matter how platonic their relationship was, this would change everything between them.

Still... he promised to Freddie to tell her. And he was right. She should know.

'I'm just curious', she continued as she noticed his distress. 'That's all. Because you used to be quite mad at him back then. Are you now okay with that?'

'Yeah, nothing wrong with that', Michael replied with a sarcastic edge to his voice.

Brooke breathed out in frustration and slumbed down into her light blue couch.

'You know Michael', she sighed, shaking her head. 'You're such a mystery to me sometimes. What's this issue with Freddie Mercury? Why do you get all upset whenever I mention his name?'

'I'm not upset at all', Michael denied.

'Yes, you are, Michael, listen to yourself! Even now you're acting as if there's an ant invasion going on in your pants. Naturally, it's none of my business whatsoever what's off between you guys. I don't even care. Because what I really what I really wanted to talk about... is us.'

'Uh - us?'

'Yes Michael', Brooke said emphatically. '_Us_. What am I to you, Michael? What do I mean to you? I feel like I know nothing about you, what you want and what's going on in your mind. Can you please tell me?'

Michael stared at her. Then he sat onto the couch next to her and took her hands. They were small and fragile, like the wings of a delicate butterfly. He fumbled them for a moment, trying to figure out what he should say next.

'I care about you a lot', he said eventually, weighing his words carefully. 'You're one of the sweetest girls I've ever met.'

The room started to blur around him. He took another breath and tried to focus his eyes.

'I love you, I really do... That's the truth. But there's this one thing... that you should know about.'

Brooke bat her eyelashes and looked down. Her eyes were sad and Michael instantly felt a pang of guilt.

'Brooke – lift your head up', he pleaded. 'Don't cry, baby, don't do that. I – I – I – Damn it – I don't wanna ever see you like that... I want to... I want you to be in my life forever. Honestly. That's what I want.'

'You do?' Brooke sobbed. 'It doesn't feel like it at all. You don't return my calls, you don't share your secrets with me... Nothing. Sometimes I wonder if you even think about me at all. Because I think about you all the time...'

'And the worst part is... I don't think we should go on like this, pretending to be a couple while we're not, because it isn't working. For me, at least. It's breaking me up inside because I love you _so much_ and I would like to be with you for real.'

Michael buried his face into his hands. He was ashamed of himself: everything Brooke was saying was true, and he felt absolutely awful.

'You know I love you too', Michael said back although the words sounded lame even to his own ears.

'Well I don't', Brooke muttered. 'Do you?'

'Yes!'

'Do you really want to be with me?'

'Yes... I do.'

'For how long?'

'I... I want to be with you forever. I mean...'

He cleared his throat but his mind was still foggy.

'What?'

'I thought... _Damn_... Brooke, I wanted to say something.'

'What?'

Michael was desperately trying to gather his thoughts but he couldn't do it under pressure.

'What is it, Michael? You can tell me everything.'

'I - was - thinking... WouldyoumarrymeifIaskedyouto ?' he blurted out.

* * *

After those words, everything stilled.

Brooke looked at him in disbelief.

'I beg your pardon?' she whispered astonished, convinced that she must have heard it wrong. 'Are you serious?'

Michael had the strangest expression on his face and Brooke couldn't make out what it was.

'Yeah, I love you, Brooke. And – And - you mean that much to me. Really', he spluttered.

Suddenly a giant wave of happiness washed over her and she burst out into laughter.

'I can't believe this. Hold on.'

She took a long breath and looked him straight in the eye.

Did she want to be his wife? Did she?

That was the dumbest question.

'Michael... If you really mean that... Yes I would. I would _love_ to.'

Michael blushed crimson and Brooke thought he looked absolutely adorable when he shyly sucked in his lower lip... He looked like he was utsettled by what he just did as he nervously he touched her hair and then very gently kissed her on the lips.

Tears of joy flew down her cheeks and as she kissed him back, thousands of questions ran through her mind but she didn't pay any attention to them. She was just happy.

Michael kissed her almost desperately, his hands roaming around her body like they were trying to find something. Brooke caressed his back in a calming manner. This apparently meant a lot to Michael, taken how edgy he was.

'You know, I have to confess... I didn't really plan on any of this. So I ain't got the ring... I ain't got anything prepared, I'm sorry...', he mumbled, hugging her tightly. 'I just want to be good for you, you know. I don't ever want to disappoint you.'

'Don't worry, you're good enough just the way you are', Brooke reassured. 'Besides, I'm not perfect myself.'

Michael nodded, sighing in relief.

'I think this is gonna get better, I truly believe that', he muttered and Brooke wasn't sure if his words were meant to her at all. 'It's gonna be good.'

He smiled at her a little but for Brooke it was like the sun got back up once again.

* * *

Freddie flipped another page in his magazine. His lips formed a tight line and he was constantly checking his watch. It was 11PM already and Michael hadn't called yet - and probably wouldn't anymore. The sound of the TV was getting on his nerves, but it was the sound of Peter sipping soda that was driving him out of his mind.

'Could you _please_ stop that, Phoebe', he snapped at his assistant, who withdrew his eyes reluctanctly from the TV screen.

'Naturally I could', he stated. 'But I'm thirsty so I won't, sir.'

Freddie rolled his eyes and folded the magazine. Then he threw it at Peter.

'You could do something useful like go out to fetch us something to eat.'

'Fresh air would do good to you as well. Just saying.'

'Shut up, you prat.'

Peter held his tongue. When Freddie was one in one of his bad moods, it was better not to annoy him further. Thus he got up to turn down the volume of the TV.

Without warning, the doorbell rang. Peter glanced at Freddie, but he didn't make a move.

So he went to open the door himself.

'Good evening', Freddie heard a youthful, familiar voice greet in the hallway and a moment later he saw Peter and Andy appear from behind the corner. Peter gave him a look as if to ask if he was allowed to let him in and Freddie conceded with a nod.

'How did you find me?' Freddie inquired nonchalantly when Peter went to the bathroom. 'I can't remember giving you the number of my hotel room.'

'Well, I have my contacts', Andy replied and winked at him. 'Are you busy right now?'

His beatiful chocolate skin glowed and he had grown a small goatee and a moustache. His white T-shirt hugged his lean upper body, displaying his muscular chest in a sexy way and Freddie had to admit he was quite a sight. Moreover, that guy had some nerve to come and knock on the door of his hotel room in the middle of the night.

'Not really.'

'In that case, lets go downstairs. I'm paying.'

* * *

'So – what are you doing here?'

'Don't you know already?' Andy laughed and flashed him a mysterious grin, smoothing one of his long, brown curls away from his face. 'I came to see you.'

'Well, that much is obvious', Freddie muttered and gulped down a mouthful of ale. 'What are you after?'

'Well... I haven't seen you around. I mean, gosh, Mr. Mercury is in da house and I'm waiting you in the bathtub, all naked, all ready... and he just won't come. I was kinda disappointed, Freddie, to be honest. My tight little black tush still remembers how it felt like to be banged by that big prick of yours... '

Andy's hand found its way to Freddie's thigh and squeezed it.

'If you want it, it's all yours tonight.'

Andy's fingers wiggled teasingly on Freddie's thigh and his breathing accelerated. Of course he hadn't forgot all those steamy nights with Andy. And what he had always liked most about him was his bold, confident seducing style.

'Well, I...'

'Freddie?'

Freddie's heart almost stopped when he heard the voice. He span around and saw Michael standing in the doorway of the booth him and Andy were sitting in, staring at Andy in the most venomous way he could muster.

'I guess I'm interrupting', he said a thinly veiled disgust in his voice as his eyes fixed on the posessive hand on his lover's thigh.

Andy glanced at Freddie but did no effort to move his hand away.

'There must be something special about this place', he snarled in a low voice, 'seeing how many superstars I've met only this evening. You wanna join us, Jackson?'

'Actually, I don't, Michael snapped. 'I just wanted to talk to Freddie... but I see he's busy now so I guess I'll leave you two as you are - '

'Don't be stupid', Freddie retorted angrily and jerked Andy's hand away. 'Of course I'm coming with you. Thank you for the drink, Andy.'

'You're welcome', Andy replied slowly and glanced between the two of them. _'Anytime.'_

'Lets go then', Freddie said and pushed Michael toward the doors of the elevator, well aware of the stare of Andy's piercing eyes in the back of his neck.

Freddie was glad to note that Peter had dragged his ass away from his room by the time he and Michael got there, because as soon as the door was slammed shut behind them, Michael banged him violently against it.

'This day has been the worst, worst...' he gasped and started to unbutton Freddie's shirt. 'You and Andy... Joseph... Everything's gone wrong.'

'For the record, we were only having a drink, that's all', Freddie said but it had no effect on Michael, who seemed to be a little bit out of his mind. 'Is everything alright, baby?'

'No, I mean yes, don't talk', Michael hushed and turned off the lights. 'We don't need to.'

* * *

When they were done and Michael was blissfully asleep in his arms, Freddie had some time to contemplate.

Had Michael told Brooke? That would explain why he was acting so restless. Even now when he was sleeping his beautiful dark brows formed a frown on his forehead. Freddie attempted to smooth the lines with his thumb and Michael sighed in response, snuggling closer to him.

_God he loved that man. _

He sniffed his hair, pressed his cheek against the top of his head and hoped he could hold him like this every night for the rest of his life and never let go.


	23. Good Luck Only Lasts So Long

Chapter Twenty-Three

**GOOD LUCK ONLY LASTS SO LONG**

* * *

****Next morning Michael rushed early to the studios, avoiding confrontation with Freddie and hoping that working would distract him from his complicated private life.

And it did... at least to some extent. But as soon as he said goodbye to Quincy and the door of the studio closed behind him, the reality hit him harder than ever.

'Damn I'm a _dimwit_', Michael sighed to himself when the car halted in front of a high-end jewellery store. 'Someone please wake me up.'

'Is this the place?' John the chauffeur inquired.

'Yes it is', Michael agreed curtly, put on his aviators and pulled up the collar of his shirt. 'Lets go.'

* * *

'How about these?' Freddie asked Peter and showed him a pair of mesh briefs. 'Go on, try them on!'

'How about taking a break, sir', Peter puffed and slumped onto a bench next to a garment rack filled with pink tops and dresses wrapped in plastic.

'Not until you try them on.'

Peter sighed and stumbled to his feet. While he was changing, Freddie wandered about in the store, looking for something that would arouse his interest.

By accident, he crashed into a rack of clothes, almost knocking it over. Cursing his absent-mindedness Freddie bent over to pick up the garments he had dropped on the floor.

Suddenly he heard Peter calling him and as he turned his head, he saw his assistant running toward him still wearing his disgustingly worn-out jeans.

'Didn't they fit, Phoebe?' he joked dryly but quickly dropped it when he noticed the alarmed look on Peter's face. 'What's wrong?'

'I – found – this – in – the – fitting – room', Peter panted and hastily shoved a journal into Freddie's hand.

Freddie frowned but took nevertheless a look at what appeared to be a gossip paper of the same day. However, after he read the headline on the top of the front page, his blood turned ice cold in his veins:

**EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW: MICHAEL JACKSON'S SECRET GAY LIFE **  
_Read the full interview by Jackson's friend on page 2 and 3._

Freddie turned quickly to the next page where there was an enermous full-page photo of Michael and Brooke with a caption that stated: "The bride or the beard?". On the next page was the actual interview and with a sick feeling growing in his stomach Freddie began to read it:

_Michael Jackson from the Jacksons is probably the hottest young thing out there at the moment – and for a good reason. The charistmatic 24-year-old star at the height of his career has definitely caught the hearts of thousands of ladies, but surprisingly there still seems to be very little female presence in his life._

Now 'Hollywood Exposed' has, however, found a possible explanation for Jackson's obvious lack of interest in the female gender, as a young man – a close acquaintance to Jackson he claims – lifts the curtain of secrecy surrounding the talented superstar's private life.

'Is he gay? Oh yes he is', the man – who prefers not to reveal his name – tells a HE reporter. 'I used to go out with his current lover (who is by the way another major superstar) a couple of years ago but thinking about it, they might have been hitting it off already back then.'

The youngster reveals shocking details of the behind-the-scenes love affair.

'They've spent nights together in the same room at the hotel Four Seasons here in Los Angeles. I know it because I've seen them with my very own eyes and even a blind stray dog could tell what's going on inside. It's so obvious.'

This is not the first time Jackson's heterosexuality has been questioned. Not long time ago it was rumored that Jackson was involved with the handsome Hollywood hunk Clifton Davis, who penned the tender ballad "Never Can Say Goodbye" for the Jackson 5.

Freddie's neck vein was blunging slightly when he slowly crumpled the paper in his hands and tossed it in the trash can. Then he grabbed Peter's elbow and dragged him out of the store.

'Taxi!' he yelled and almost instantly a cab pulled up and he climbed inside Peter following on his heels like a well-trained dog.

'West Hollywood. And fast too', he hissed at the driver who nodded and pushed down the gas pedal.

* * *

Brooke fiddled with the hem of her lavender dress nervously as she climbed up the stairs leading to Michael's room. From the laced window she could see a glimpse of the fountain where she and Michael kissed for the first time and it brought her some comfort.

She couldn't, however, totally shake off the unnerving feeling in her gut. That's why she flinched a little when she saw that the door to Michael's room was open. She knocked on the doorframe before spotting Michael sitting on the windowsill, looking down at the garden.

'Eh – hi', she said quietly and walked up to Michael, who greeted her with a smile and crawled to his feet.

'Hi.'

They looked at each other but Michael soon adverted his gaze to the floor. He started to pull something from his pocket and Brooke's eyes fluttered shut instantly.

'I – I went to a jewellery store today because I didn't have this with me yesterday.'

Brooke opened her eyes and gasped. On Michael's palm was the single most beautiful red jewel box she had ever seen and inside of that box was a...

'Oh my God', she whispered and took the box like it was made out of the most fragile kind of crystal. 'I can't even describe it.'

'That's the least I could do. Do you like it?'

'Of course I do. Of course I do, Michael.'

'Lets put it on', Michael said trying to sound non-chalant.

He picked the ring up with trembling fingers and then, very slowly, he slipped it into Brooke's waiting finger. The bright fire of the diamonds took her breath away. She didn't even want to guess how much this piece of jewellery had cost.

'Brooke... Could we keep this thing down for some time?'

Brooke nodded although she felt a tug of disappointment. She would have been ready to tell to the whole world who she was engaged to – she was that happy and didn't really care about the consequences - but knew Michael well enough to understand it wasn't easy for him to let people know something like that.

'You aren't even going to tell your mother?'

'I don't know yet', Michael confessed and started to walk toward the bathroom. 'Maybe I will. But not now.'

Brooke nodded again and went back to admiring the ring. That's when, however, she noticed something strange on her side and picked it up.

A half-full pack of cigarettes. And there was a lighter too.

'Has Michael started to smoke?' Brooke wondered confused. 'Not in a million years.'

She heard Michael flush the toilet and put the items quickly back to where she found them.

'I guess I think too much', she told to herself, wiped her forehead and flashed a bright smile at Michael when he came back.

* * *

The heavy wooden door was slammed shut forcefully making the windows shake in their frames.

'Is Andy here?' Freddie asked the receptionist in an impatient tone.

The man shrugged.

'Is he or is he not?'

'Unfortunetely, I can't...'

'Yes I am.'

Freddie twirled around and instinctively Peter took a firm hold of his arm. The receptionist vanished behind the door curtain, clearly sensing it was going to be a private conversation.

'You!' Freddie spat out, scowling at the dark man who stood at the doorway of the locker room wearing nothing but a towel. 'You bloody bastard, what did you do that for?'

Andy grinned and tilted his head.

'What are you talking about?' he snarled feigning ignorance. 'You sound pissed off.'

'You know very well that I'm talking about that stupid interview you gave to that trash magazine.'

'So it's true then?'

Freddie jerked his arms free and stood up straight and took a good look at Andy's face.

'I won't answer that question', he replied coldly. 'I came here because I thought we had an agreement and you owe me money now.'

'I don't owe you anything', Andy retorted straight away. 'I never mentioned your name. Plus I was only telling the truth.'

Freddie cursed.

'You're so low. I regret ever f*cking a dirty whore like you.'

That clearly stung Andy. He flared his nostrils and his eyes narrowed as he walked c0ckily toward Freddie until he stood right in front of him. Then he grabbed his shoulder and leant closer to whisper in his ear:

'I don't care a f*ck about you or your agreement, I don't care a sh*t about that drag queen of yours either. I will, however, give you some good advice for the future so burn these words into your tiny head: _never ever_ forget to use the condom when you screw him', he said in a low, amused voice. 'Or there's a chance you just might end up giving him more than he bargained for.'

Freddie's eyes widened in disbelief. Then he pushed Andy away from him.

'I can't possibly _mean_ what you just said, do you? You were just joking, alright?' he asked nervously.

The dark man just laughed gloomily.

Then he shook his head.

Suddenly Freddie's head started to spin. He felt faint.

'Phoebe', he said weakly and Peter was immediately on his side. 'Take me out of here, _please._'

'Goodbye, Freddie. It was nice to get to know you', Andy shouted after him and his sharp laughter rang in Freddie's ears all the way back to the hotel.


	24. The First Witness

Chapter Twenty-Four

**THE FIRST WITNESS**

* * *

'Uncle Michael, we wanna play basket! We wanna play basket with you.'

Two bright eyes looked up at him pleadingly and Michael found the invitation hard to resist.

'Okay then', he gave in and Valencia let out a yell of victory. 'But just for a minute.'

'Yay!' the little girl squealed and Michael took her hand.

Brooke watched them walk away and shared a glance with Marlon, who stood in the veranda enjoying the warm evening. The proud way he held his head made her heart leap with joy.

'She is a real princess', she commented, smiling.

Marlon gulped and wiped his forehead.

'Oh yes she is', he replied and he sounded a bit moved. 'I can't even begin to tell you.'

They laughed and secretly Brooke slid her hand into her pocket and felt a tinge of excitement when the tips of her fingers brushed the ring. It was like a hidden treasure she wanted to keep for herself and herself only.

'I'm sorry if this sounds weird but... Do you think Michael's alright?'

Brooke took her hand out of her pocket and stared at Marlon confused.

'How come?'

'I don't know, if there's nothing wrong with him then forget it. He just looks like he was a bit... worn out? I don't know - hi Jan.'

Janet's head peeked out from the doorway and faster than light Marlon had grabbed her ponytail and pulled her out.

'You know what we Jacksons do to girls who eavesdrop on confidental conversations?'

'Aaow! Let me go, midget!' Janet laughed and smacked her brother in the head. 'I didn't even listen. Mother has the dinner all set up and would be more than grateful if we didn't let her eat it alone. Where's Valencia and Mike?'

'Playing basket.'

'Okay, I go get them, you go inside.'

* * *

Janet didn't hurry when she advanced across the yard. She didn't really care about the family dinners. That's why she slowed down her pace and lingered near the fountain. She sat down on the brink of it and closed her eyes.

Suddenly she heard a car driving into the driveway and turned to look. She saw one of the guards walking up to the vehicle and speaking to whoever was driving the car through the window. After a while the window was rolled up, the guard left - and that's when Janet got really curious. She got up and walked closer and when she was close enough to see who was driving the car she stopped in her tracks.

'Good evening', she greeted the extremely disheveled-looking Freddie Mercury. 'I don't think we've met.'

'Me neither', Freddie stated and his voice was really flat. 'I'm Freddie Mercury, nice to meet you. You must be Janet?'

'Yes I am', Janet said and when she took his hand she could feel his hands were sweaty. 'Are you expecting someone?'

'I was hoping to see Michael.'

'He's right there playing the basket. Plus we're having a dinner soon. Do you want to come over?'

'Thank you so much for the invitation but I'm not hungry right now. Could you just tell him that I'm here?'

'Of course', Janet said and went in search of her brother.

'Mike!' she yelled as soon as she caught a sight of the two shoot-hoopes who were completely absorbed by the game. 'You got a guest!'

'Okay, Valencia. Game over. I won.'

'No you didn't', the little girl argued. 'I did.'

'Alright then. Who is it?' Michael asked Janet when Valencia ran to pick up the ball.

'That _Queen_ guy, Freddie Mercury. He's waiting for you in his car in front of the garages. I asked him to come in but he wouldn't. I think it's something important.'

Janet watched as a wave of mixed emotions ran across Michael's face at the mention of Freddie's name. There was fear, surprise and something else that she couldn't really place. The reaction was subtle but she knew her brother and although he tried to hide it by looking down she had already seen enough to tell this wasn't good news.

'Valencia, lets go', she said and the little girl followed her obediently toward the house.

When they were inside the living room, Janet urged Valencia to go on. After she went she rushed to the window that gave to the backyard and saw that Michael had left. Thus she went to the other window, curtains of which were fortunately half-drawn, and that's when she saw Michael and Freddie.

They sat hunched in the car, talking. Janet had never seen her brother so gloomy-looking as he was now and she was dying to know what the two men were conversing about. She leant closer to the glass, trying to catch a better view of Freddie and was surprised to see him crying.

Very subtly, but crying nevertheless. Michael rubbed his shoulder, consoling him. Then, very quickly, he looked around, as if to make sure no one was watching, and Janet hid behind the curtain just in time, praising silently her mother for preferring thick, opaque velvet curtains over transparent ones.

Her heart was jumping at the thrill of the moment and when she was sure Michael no longer looked in the direction of the window she was in, she carefully peeped out... and what she saw there caught her totally by surprise.

_They were __kissing._

Michael's fingers ran along Freddie's strong jawline and they both looked like they were lost in reverie as their mouths gently moved against each other.

As if moving in slow-motion, Janet retreated from the window, turned around and collapsed into the armchair in front of the fireplace.

Suddenly she felt dirty and scolded herself of her incontrollable curiousity. It was none of her business whom her brother was seeing. But the sheer absurdity of the situation made her shudder: was this really her dear brother she thought she knew inside out? Apparently this belief was misplaced. Even the trash magazines knew him better.

Quietly, Janet collected herself, got up and walked into the dining room, where everyone else was already sitting at the table: Katherine, Marlon's wife Carol, his two children (Brittany and Marlon Junior, who was sitting in his mother's lap), Marlon and Brooke.

When Brooke saw Janet coming, she drew out a chair for her indicating it with her hand. Janet nodded and sat down at the table, joining the ongoing conversation.

About half an hour later, Michael arrived. When he took her seat on the other side of Brooke, Janet saw him grasp for Brooke's hand under the table and squeeze it. She frowned and stuck her fork forcefully into a potato.

'Where were you?' Brooke asked quietly and Janet strained her ears to catch the answer.

'Oh, Quincy dropped by. He wanted to play me a new version of one of the tracks on his car radio. You know, _Starlight._'

Janet snorted and Michael flinched at the sound.

'What was wrong with the first version?' Katherine inguired in a motherly manner.

'It was good. But Quincy made it even better.'

'Why didn't he come in?' Janet cut him off. 'I thought he never skips a free meal.'

'Like yourself', Marlon teased, earning an angry glare from his sister.

'Well, he was busy', Michael said quickly and shifted a little bit closer to Brooke.

He gave Janet a warning look telling her not to ask any further questions about the obvious lie. So Janet waited until the he was finished with the eating and when Michael stood up from the table she took a firm hold of his arm and dragged him into her own room to keep the convesation private.

Michael looked at her questioningly but when he saw the knowing look on Janet's face he fidgeted uneasily.

'What's going on, Mike? You and me both know you didn't meet up with Quincy tonight. Why don't you just tell me everything, okay?'

Michael bit his fingernails and seemed reluctant to talk, which irritated Janet greatly and finally she reached her boiling point.

'You're sleeping with him, aren't you? You're sleeping with Freddie Mercury?'

Michael gaped at her pale as a ghost.

'What?' he managed to grunt out. 'No!'

'I'm not even the first one to find out, seeing what the tabloids have to say about this', she said angrily. 'I think I have it here somewhere.'

She strode to the trash bin and picked up a magazine she had been reading the day before.

'Here', she said and let him read the article.

Michael stood still as a statue when he eyed the text on the glossy paper, like he had hard time making out what was written in there. He ground his teeth together so hard Janet thought they were going to shatter.

'Andy', Michael hissed eventually and ripped the paper into pieces. 'This is lies, all lies!'

'I saw you in the car tonight', Janet confessed and now Michael looked at her really scared.

'You - you did?' he asked anxiously.

'Yes I did. I know what's going on, Mike. So does this mean that this thing between you and Brooke is a _sham_? Is she covering it up for you?'

'No she isn't', Michael snapped.

'Then what? She doesn't have a clue? You date her for God knows how long and then one day it turns out you've been hooking up with some gay guy all along? Do you have any idea how that's gonna make her feel?'

Michael staggered to the bed and collapsed on it.

'I just wish you'd be honest to yourself.'

Janet sat down next to him and watched close by how his stern expression slowly turned into one of deep guilt and anguish. Then he started to cry, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

To see her brother so helplessly lost, to see him so undecided made Janet feel bad for him. In her eyes, he had always been the best big brother ever: ridiculously talented, loved by everyone and always trying to make sure he did the right thing.

'How did this come to happen, Mike?' she asked trying to sound as understanding as possible. 'I thought you and Brooke were doing well, that you were happy with her.'

'I was happy with Brooke, I _am_ happy with Brooke.'

'Then why are you cheating on her?'

'I don't know', Michael answered truthfully. 'I guess it just happened.'

'Things like this doesn't "just happen". Now tell me how it all started.'

And finally Michael told her the whole story, how he met Freddie, how their so called "friendship" developed and how it all started to go wrong. The whole time he felt incredibly stupid and ashamed of himself. But what he didn't expect was that he felt immediately better when he finally could let someone in on this most private secret of his.

'The reason why he was here tonight is that he told me he'll fly to London tomorrow and who knows maybe he'll stay there too', he finished with a sigh. 'It could be a good thing if he did.'

'Is it?' Janet questioned when she saw the corner of his mouth twitching. 'But you love him, right?'

Michael squinted his eyes and the pain in his face was so real it made Janet wrap her arms around him and hug him tighter than ever. She tore his hands from his face and started to hum a calming song their mum used to sing to them. That seemed to relax him a bit and he clutched to her like a baby ape seeking for protection.

'Thank you, Donk', Michael whispered when he let her go. 'You are precious.'

'That's what I always thought', Janet joked and ruffled his hair. 'Go wash your face, brother.'

Michael did as told. As he came back he hugged Janet again, this time briefly, and kissed her gently on the cheek.

'Could you please not to tell Brooke about this? Not just yet.'

'In one condition: you have to sort this out with her. That's what you have to do and you know it yourself.'

She gave him a look and he nodded.

'That's a deal then. Let's go.'


	25. All That Glitters

Chapter Twenty-Five

**ALL THAT GLITTERS**

* * *

The small Eastender pub was filled with drunken men who played Bridge in the dim lighting and couldn't care less about a loner who was hiding in the corner behind a cloud of cigarette smoke and eyed them suspiciously.

Usually Freddie didn't care about places like this because he hated the random assholes that forced themselves on him and insisted on making him listen their meaningless life stories.

He sipped from his beer. And sipped again.

He was feeling bloody great.

He was having the time of his life.

And he was definitely going to forget about Michael and everything the doctor said to him for good because it didn't matter.

He was going to ignore it and make the most of this evening.

He was going to...

'Do you mind if I sit down in here?'

A switch flipped inside of him and his eyes shot up. He prepared to spat out something nasty that would make the annoying groupie turn himself in and disappear - both in a time frame of roughly five to six nano seconds, if possible.

But he didn't.

For as soon as he saw the person, a gentle-looking brown-eyed, slightly chubby man staring back at him he was totally disarmed by his bear-like charm.

'You look like you'd use some company.'

'Yes, why not?'

The man smiled and took his chair. He told his name was Jim and that he worked as a hairdresser not far away from the pub.

'...and what do you do for a living?' he inquired, genuinely oblivious to who he was talking with.

And Freddie liked that.

'I... am a musician.'

'How intriguing! What instrument do you play?'

'The piano. Though I mainly sing.'

'Oh, _singer!_ Are you really? Well, you don't really look like a singer, I would've thought you were something of an accountant.'

The man smiled disarmingly and Freddie laughed straight from his heart. There was something about this man that put him instantly in a better mood.

'Accountant? Me?'

'Yes, you seemed so serious.'

Freddie snorted.

'No, really. You looked like you had just performed an autopsy to your best friend. What has gone awry in your life then?'

'Oh, it's nothing but bad news', Freddie said attempting to sound casual.

'Bad news about what?'

'My health. And my love life', Freddie confessed, surprising himself.

When ever did he even confide in total strangers like that?

But something in this man made him trust in him instantly. Talking to him was easier than talking to Peter. Or Michael, for that matter.

'Oh I see. That sort of problems never fail to bring a grown man down.'

After saying that he did ask no more about it. Which was much apprecitated by Freddie.

'So, what are you planning to do tonight? Just sit here and mope?'

Freddie shrugged.

'Well, if that's it, then I'll have something better for you. Come on, we're going to take another round of this fine ale. After we're done with that we'll take a walk at the river. Alright? Waiter!'

When another beer met Freddie's lips, he thanked God for sending him this angel in a bear's clothes to save his night.

* * *

_January 1983_

Michael's second solo album _Thriller _was released in November 1982 and ever since it had been like the Pandora's box was smashed into billions of pieces.

Everyone wanted to have a bit of him. The singles sold gold, the album sold platinum and Michael himself was suddenly more worth than all the bedrock gold and platinum of California put together. To sum it up: he was no longer just a popular singer. He was a worldwide superstar, more famous than Ronald Reagan or any other president for that matter.

'I can't believe it's happening to me', Michael said to an interviewer after being asked how it felt like to see the sales of his newly-released album rocketing. 'It's a dream come true, really. I'm really happy.'

'It sure is. But our readers surely would like to know who's the man creating this amazing music like behind the scenes. Could you give us a little little glimpse of that?'

Michael was unsure of what to answer to that. As long as it was about music and performing, he was eager to tell everything about it. Yet to this day he had never met a journalist that would've kept an interview at a professional level and professional level only.

'Not that long ago there was a rumor that you've a special someone? Do you have any comment on that?'

'I'd rather keep my private matters private, thank you very much', Michael stated politely. 'But yes, there's someone special in my life.'

'Can you even tell us whether it's a man or a woman?'

'You're getting nowhere 'cause I'm not saying anything.'

'Are you gay?'

Not again. As if he hadn't already answered to that question often enough, like in every single interview after Andy's article was released four months ago. It was like his music carried no meaning to them, the most important challenge appeared to be to dig out his deepest and darkest secrets in the most straightforward manner.

Well, straight-to-the-point strategy wasn't going to work out at all.

'That's a ridiculous question and I'm _not_ going to answer it.'

Which was true, because it was none of his business. It was uncomfortable enough to live with the fact that he got away with it only because he paid off both Andy and Stevie.

Of course he wouldn't tell that to the reporter.

When the interview finally ended, Michael went straight to home and checked his voicemail. But there was nothing.

No phone call, no message.

Nothing from _him_.

Michael wasn't sure what had happened back in September, when they last met. Freddie had been so upset and claimed he had to rush to London immediately, because a family member of his had gotten terribly sick all of a sudden. Then he left, promising he would call him as soon as the plane landed but never did. And when Michael tried to call him, he only found out that Freddie had changed his phone number.

'Forget about him, he's nothing', Michael said to himself, once again swallowing the lump of disappointment down his throat.

* * *

'What are you rehearsing for?' Brooke inquired when Michael shut the car door and sat down in the back seat of his van.

'You'll see', Michael replied mysteriously and his eyes twinkled playfully.

When they got to Encino, Michael went straight upstairs to change and Brooke told him she would wait for him in the garden. So she went to the patio and by accident found Janet there leaning to the railing, singing.

'I'm sorry, am I interrupting?' Brooke apologized before Janet got to say anything.

'No, not at all', Janet said quietly. 'I was about to go feed Louis. Wanna help me?'

'I'd love to', Brooke replied and they walked to the stables.

'Hi, how are you', Janet greeted the furry animal and stroked its head. 'Aren't you just bored to death here? Yeah, I know you miss Michael. But you know what: he'll come down here as soon as he can.'

Brooke poured fresh water into Louis' bucket and crouched to wipe the rim of it with an old rag.

Janet, for her part, fetched the brush and started to untangle the knots in his fur. However, when she got to the legs, she suddenly noticed something glittering among the sawdust near to where Brooke was and picked it up.

_A ring._

She looked over her shoulder at Brooke - who clearly hadn't noticed dropping it - and then took a better look at the amazing jewel that was made out of white gold with white and pinkish diamonds embedded in it. There was also a writing that ran inside the ring, which simply stated:

_Michael, September 1982_

Janet had to read it a couple of times before she comprehended what it stood for.

'You're engaged?' she asked outright. 'You and Michael are _engaged..?_'

Brooke shot up and when she realized what she was holding, she grabbed the ring and shoved it quickly into her pocket.

'Yes we are', she hissed. 'But it's supposed to be a secret, you know.'

'...for two months?'

'Keep it quiet.'

Janet's face was really worth seeing. She gaped at Brooke, her eyes wide open like tennis balls. All she could think was the conversation she had had with Michael in past September.

Also, she remembered all she had witnessed going on in the car the same evening and a bad feeling started to creep over her.

'You guys aren't serious with this, are you?' she questioned. 'You aren't getting married, right? Not for real?'

'Yes we are', Brooke insisted, although Janet could well hear from her voice that she was far from sure.

'Then why haven't you broken the big news to us? After all it should be a happy thing. Plus I'd like to know if my brother's getting married.'

'Well, Michael wants to keep it down. He's very busy right now...'

'...I know...'

'...and we're both very young...'

'...I know...'

'...so I don't mind him taking his time. I'm sure he'll tell you when he's ready.'

Now Janet saw the look in her eyes and got really sad. She was genuinely and blindly in love with him. Also, she clearly didn't have an idea.

It was heartbreaking to see.

'In that case, don't rush it. And I wish you all the happiness in the world', she wished flatly and they changed the topic.

* * *

'You're _engaged?!_'

Michael - who had just got out of shower - stood in the door frame of his room. His curly hair was dripping water as he stared at his enraged baby sister in utter astonishment.

'Have you lost your mind?' he asked nervously. 'Anyone can hear you here.'

He pulled her inside and the door had barely snapped shut behind them when Janet span around and slapped him.

'You so deserve this.'

Michael yelped in pain and held his cheek.

'That hurt!'

'Yes it did. But someone has to wake you up. She loves you.'

'And I'm going to marry her so what seems to be the problem?' Michael said angrily.

The red spot on the side of his head tingled and he wondered if he would get visible bruises that would be hard to cover with makeup.

'Doesn't your boyfriend have anything to say about that?'

Michael's shoulders slumped in defeat and his face turned grim.

'No he doesn't', he snapped.

'He doesn't know?'

Michael smiled wryly and shook his head. A deep crease formed in his forehead as he pulled the towel tighter around his body.

'Alright, so let me put this straight', Janet taunted. 'You have both a girlfriend _and _a boyfriend and because you can't marry the boyfriend whom you really love, you decided to take the easy way out, huh?'

'I don't have a boyfriend, Donk.'

'Gosh, Michael, you drive me out of my mind. We have talked about this before, don't you remember? You promised to tell Brooke. You promised to tell about you and Freddie and that you're sorry for being such an idiot to lead her on. Like I told you, I have no problem whatsoever with you and Freddie being together but you've had four months time to solve this out and you haven't.'

'It's not as simple as that.'

Michael was growing frustrated. He wiped his hair with the towel and when he was done, he walked angrily to the drawer, took out a jewelry box much like the one he gave to Brooke. He opened it and picked up his engagement ring.

'This,' he said holding up the ring, 'is what people expect me to do and I agree. I should get married, have a family... have children. I _want_ children.'

'I know you want them, but what about Freddie?'

'Forget about him already. I did. I have moved on.'

'I don't believe you', Janet said calmly.

'Well, that's your problem not mine. Now excuse me, I've got to dry myself up before I get cold', Michael retorted in a cool tone and walked her out.


	26. Motown 25

Chapter Twenty-Six

**MOTOWN 25**

* * *

_May 1983_

"Michael, could you _please _concentrate a little bit more?" Jermaine snapped and poked Michael's rib.

Michael frowned. He hated the whole idea of a reunion with his brothers and the very only reason he had accepted to participate in it was his father. He knew this performance and the tour was going to be the very last time he would perform with the Jacksons and the thought gave him strength to continue.

He already had a plan for tomorrow - the Motown 25th Anniversary Special. Everyone else thought it was just going to be the Jacksons' long-awaited reunion but for him it was something totally different: the launch of his career as a solo artist.

Brooke shot him an encouraging smile from the first row. Michael smiled back at her and asked her to throw him a bottle of water which she did.

'Okay lets do _Dancing Machine_ next. You ready?'

After the rehearsal Michael took a shower and went to Brooke, who had waited for him patiently in the audience.

"I think tomorrow will be just great"', she whispered in his ear. "Would you like to come over tonight or are you busy?"

"I'm afraid I'm too busy, I have things to do before I go to sleep."

"Oh, mysterious", Brooke said and hugged him. "Good night then and sweet dreams!"

"Sweet dreams for you too", Michael replied and kissed her forehead before their ways parted.

* * *

Michael adjusted the sleeves of his tuxedo and acted as if nothing serious was happening. Brooke on his side appeared much less calm and clung to his arm like she was going to drown if she ever let go.

A gospel quartet sang beautifully in harmony and the priest stood behind the altar decorated with white lilies welcoming them with warm smile and friendly eyes. Michael could hear Brooke's friend Charlotte sobbing much in the same way she had sobbed on Rebecca's and Tony's wedding day.

Not even the relatively modest setting was able to scratch the happiness of the moment, when the priest finally pronounced them as man and wife and when he kissed her in the lips, he could hear everyone in the room applauding and cheering for them...

Suddenly Michael shot up from his bed and slowly started to realize it was nothing but a dream. It felt real though.

This wasn't, however, the first time he was dreaming about his wedding. He had been engaged to Brooke for over six months now and although she didn't say anything about it, Michael knew she was waiting for him to bring up the topic. Except he wasn't going to do it anytime soon.

Michael looked at the clock on the wall and saw it was 3AM. He didn't have to wake up for another four hours or so but he knew that he wasn't able to go back to sleep now that he had woken up. As silently as he could, he rose from his bed and walked to bathroom.

A little sad smile on his face, Michael crouched next to the sink and drew out the music magazines he still kept hidden behind his make-up trunk.

There he was. _Freddie._

Michael had stared at those photos for who knows how many times but still he never got tired of them. It was like he could feel Freddie through those pictures, look him in the eyes and pretend Freddie could see him too. His sharp eyes and high cheekbones, ever-contagious smile and slightly protruding teeth... He looked simply gorgeous in every picture.

Michael stood up and looked himself in the mirror. The were dark circles under his eyes and his dark, curly hair was a mess. He noticed a couple of pimples and grimaced: so many things wrong with the way he looked. At times Michael just wanted to retreat into a hole and disappear. He had wanted to buy a house of his own for a while. It was his ultimate dream to live on his own, away from his family and create a little world of his own where he could play around and forget everything about the world outside.

Maybe it was because of what had happened with Freddie, maybe because he just wanted to have a little more privacy. He knew tomorrow was going to be crucial: he would have to perform better than ever before. He had to prove himself to the whole world - and most importantly, to his very own family.

* * *

Freddie held of bottle of nice chianti in his hands and his hands were trembling a bit when he pushed the door beel. The door was opened and Jim looked at him surprised.

'Oh dear, it's Freddie!' Jim exlaimed and his face lit up. "I wasn't expecting you."

Freddie gave him a lopsided smile while Jim hugged him like he hadn't just appeared on his doormat after months of absence.

'Can I come in?'

'Sure! I'm here getting little bit tipsy all alone, so I'd love to have some company. And you even brought wine to me, how nice is that! Make yourself comfortable, I'll get us some glasses.'

Freddie thanked and moved on to the sofa. Jim disappeared into the kitchen.

'So what have you been up to lately?" he asked when he returned and placed a couple of wine classes on the sofa table made out of solid pine wood and poured wine into them. 'I was here thinking you've forgotten where I live. What have you been doing?'

'Bits and pieces', Freddie stated curtly and raised his glass. 'How about yourself?'

'The regular', Jim said. 'Harrassing all the lonely men in pubs, that's about it.'

Jim's eyes twinkled and Freddie laughed wholeheartedly when he remembered how they met a few months ago.

'Lets have a toast! For all the lonely men of the United Kingdom', Freddie said and sipped his drink.

'I could perhaps make us something to eat, I haven't eaten anything today. Would you like to watch some TV?'

'Maybe', Freddie agreed and went to turn on the TV. 'I could use some lazy fun for a change.'

However, when Jim left him alone, Freddie didn't feel like sitting there watching TV anymore. There were some horrible comedy show and a movie he had seen all too often. Then he changed to the news channel.

_'Now, is this the epidemic of the 21th century? A new disease called AIDS takes an economic and social toll in countries as diverse as Kongo, South Africa and Noth America. The governments in said countries are seemingly helpless in front of HIV which doesn't necessarily show any symptoms at all before turning into...'_

'Do you like garlic?' Jim yelled from the kitchen and Freddie starled.

'Oh, yes... no!' he yelled back and quickly changed the channel again.

On the next channel there was some black guy hosting a gala event of a sort. Freddie could sense the smell of cooking coming out of the kitchen and suddenly he felt at home again. Yeah, this was exactly what he needed right now: to relax and watch how great singers belted out a couple of good old classics for his entertainment.

_'When I told you before this evening was going to contain a lot of wonderful surprises, I wasn't kidding. Like this next group for instance...'_

Freddie sipped from his glass of wine and listened on. An uneasy feeling began to grow in the pit of his stomach but he ignored it.

_'But nobody, no matter how good they are, would reckon they would be legends before they were out of puberty.'_

Freddie knew already which group the host was talking about but kept on watching anyways. Right after the short speech a black-and-white video hit the screen showing a little black boy singing and dancing with amazing grace. He span, he screamed and the band behind him (which consisted of children playing various intruments) played a tune reminiscent of James Brown.

No one in the whole world could dance like that... except one.

Freddie watched little Michael dance to _I Want You Back, _looking adorable as always with his curly hair and quick feet, and then the Jackson 5 hit the stage and people in the live audience went crazy.

Michale looked stunning. He wore a glittering shirt, tight black pants and also a white sequined glove Freddie had never seen before. Michael's cheeks were rosy with blush and excitement and the way he moved...

'Oh _the Jackson 5_! How great is that?' Jim said somewhere behind the sofa but Freddie didn't turn around. His eyes were glued to the screen.

He watched how _the Jackson 5_ performed some of their best hits and after that, Michael was on the stage on his own.

_'Those were the good old days... I love those songs, those were magic moments with all my brothers including Jermaine. You know, I like those songs but especially I like the new songs.'_

And he grasped the fedora someone had brought to the stage for him. And got into a dance stance. And then the music started playing.

After the performance Freddie sat still. He wasn't even breathing. Jim had moved to sit next to him and was equally dumbshot by what they had just seen.

Slowly, Freddie turned to face Jim and looked him deeply in the eye. Without words, somehow, Jim seemed to understand what was going on. They hugged and then, very carefully, Freddie brought their lips together and Jim let out a deep breath.

Freddie peeled off Jim's shirt and rubbed his hairy chest with his palm, aching to get closer to the other man. Jim sighed again and licked Freddie's lips hungrily. The TV was still on, the food was ready and waiting to be served in the kitchen but the two men had long forgotten about them.

'I want to f**k you right here on this sofa', Freddie pleaded. 'Hold on.'

Jim closed his eyes and grunted when Freddie fumbled for something from the pockets of his trousers. When he had found what he was looking for, he opened his belt and descended onto him, nibbling on his neck. Then he groaned a little when he felt Freddie grab him and started to pull down his own pants. Freddie positioned him on his back and after short preparation, entered him with full force.

After brief but intense moment of lovemaking, the two men laid on the sofa panting and sweaty, trying to take in what had just happened.

'Well, I wasn't expecting that', Jim stated after he got his tongue back.

'Me neither', Freddie said and pressed their foreheads together. 'Are you still hungry?'

'Yes', Jim laughed and got up. 'But I think I'll have to shower first if you don't mind.'

'Not at all', Freddie said and when Jim was gone, he turned his eyes back to the TV screen and cringed when he saw Michael singing on the screen along with rest of performers. He beamed at Diana Ross like he was in love with her, hugged her tightly and everyone cheered at him. He was wonderful and definitely the star of the evening.

But most importantly, he looked happy, happier than Freddie had ever seen him.

Freddie, however, felt extremely shitty. He switched off the TV and buried his face into his hands, cursing silently in his mind.

'I don't deserve you', he said aloud but no one heard him.


	27. Two Calls

Chapter Twenty-Seven

**TWO CALLS**

* * *

When Michael woke up the next morning, he thought for a moment that it was his birthday. He yawned and walked downstairs and as soon as he reached the living room, everyone was buzzing around him like bees, congratulating him, paying him compliments.

'My wonderful brother Mike!' Janet said and it felt so good to hear something like that coming from her mouth. After she got to know about his and Brooke's engagement, their relationship had deteriorated to the point they barely greeted each other. Janet was so angry at him and Michael purposely avoided her too.

'Thank you', Michael said grinning widely when Janet hugged her.

'Wait, the phone is ringing... It has been ringing the whole morning because of you', Katherine said smiling and picked up the handset. 'Hello. This is Katherine Jackson. Oh, good morning. Yes, he is right here, I'll just give it to him then.'

Katherine beckoned at Michael, who gulped and took the phone from her.

'It's Michael Jackson.'

'Good morning, great Michael Jackson. This is Fred Astaire speaking!'

Michael's eyes became the size of melons when he glanced at both his mother and his little sister.

'Oh... Good morning, sir.'

Fred Astaire laughed heartily at his nervousness and started to talk about last night's performance. He said so many good things that a particularly vibrant shade of red crept into his cheeks as he listened to him.

'You're a hell of a mover, an angry dancer', Fred Astaire told him and sounded genuinely excited. 'It was a privilege to watch that.'

Michael felt faint. Fred Astaire said all that to him. Unbelievable. _The _Fred Astaire.

'Thank you', was all Michael could say back and a moment later he ended the call and put the phone back on the hook, speechless.

'Who was it?' Janet asked curiousness laced in her voice.

'Fred Astaire', Michael answered and had to took support of the wall. 'He said I'm a hell of a dancer.'

'That's good! Wow, I wish Fred called me sometime. That's great. Hey, are you going to see Brooke today?'

'I'm going to meet up with her in the evening, yes', Michael said and curled up in a green armchair near the fireplace. 'Why?'

'I don't know, I was just thinking if we could do something together. Like watch a movie or go to an amusement park.'

Janet gave him a little smile like she was apologizing for behavior during the past few months and Michael was flattered by this friendly gesture.

'Sure, why not.'

Then the phone rang again.

'Could you please answer it, Jan?'

Janet nodded and walked behind the corner. Michael took a more relaxed position in the chair and closed his eyes, thinking about last night's performance. He made many mistakes: he would have liked to stand on his toes for a little bit longer and wanted to watch the whole performance on the tape so that he could see how bad it looked.

'It's for you, Mike.'

Janet's voice sounded oddly distant. Michael stood up and his eyes met Janet's icy stare.

'Who is it?' he asked and Janet jerked her head angrily.

'You go find out', she spat out and thrusted the phone into his hands.

'Hello?' Michael whispered, but the other end was completely silent.

'Hello?' he repeated.

'Is it Michael?'

'Fred - Freddie?' Michael stammered.

It had been six months - more than six months since they last talked. And it wasn't by Michael's choice: he had tried to call - and not just once but several times - only to find out that Freddie had changed his phone number. It really seemed like he didn't want anything to do with him... and now _this._

'Yes, it's me... Look, Michael, I saw you on the TV last night... I thought you were absolutely amazing at that Motown show and I just wanted to let you know that.'

Freddie's voice was different, more serious in a way. Like he had got older or something. Michael couldn't still believe his ears. Freddie was calling him, for real. Had he forgotten everything? Was this the only reason he called, to tell him that he was great on the stage?

'Um... thanks. I appreciate that.'

Then they fell silent. It was the most awkward silence Michael had ever experienced in his life. He didn't know whether or not he should ask Freddie the question that had been bothering him for over six months - but he didn't know how.

As he waited Freddie decided to ask him a question instead.

'How have you been, Michael?'

'I'm good. How are you?'

'Fine.'

More awkwardness.

'I guess your new album has been the bomb, huh?'

Freddie was clearly trying to be nice and friendly.

'Yes it has.'

'Good. I reckon I'll just leave you alone then. It was lovely to hear your voice, though. It's been a while.'

Michael gulped. He looked at his reflection in the bronze-framed mirror that hung above the phone table and brushed his hair. All the memories were running through his mind and it felt like it had all happened in his imagination. It was impossible to think what he and Freddie had been through and now they couldn't even carry a proper conversation anymore!

But Michael couldn't leave it like this.

'Wait!' he called out. 'Are we ever gonna to finish that recording project of ours?'

It was a cheap shot, Michael got to admit, but he couldn't come up with anything better. He could hear Freddie breathing into the microphone and the sound of it made his stomach flip.

'I don't think it's a very good idea, to be honest', Freddie said after a while. 'I'm sorry, Michael, I have too much on my plate right now. Maybe you could ask someone else to finish it for me.'

Michael went all numb. All the hopes this phone call had raised flushed immediately down the drain.

'Okay', he said trying to sound unaffected by Freddie's refusal but he knew his voice betrayed him. 'That's okay, I'll just ask someone else then.'

'If that's okay for you. I really am sorry.'

'No it's okay', he said quicky and then realized it was all or nothing. He just had to know.

'Freddie, why didn't you call me back earlier?'

Now the silence was total. Freddie's breathing could no longer be heard and Michael feared he was going to hang up on him without answering the question. Or that he had accidentally left the phone open and went to bathroom or something.

'Michael... I didn't call you because... Please don't get mad at me but I think you deserve to know. I - I have someone else, Michael, and that's why I didn't call you.'

Okay. That did it.

'Right', Michael snapped. 'It was nice hearing from you, Mr. Mercury.'

'Michael, I - '

'Lets stay in touch.'

And he slammed the phone down on the receiver with a force.

He rushed past Janet to the stairs and right into his own room. There he took a chair and threw it right into the wall, yelling in rage.

'You piece of shit!' he howled and ran into his bathroom, took out all the magazines and pictures of Freddie and ripped them into pieces. 'I hate you! _I hate you!_'

Michael heard someone knocking on the door. Couldn't they just let him be?

'Michael! It's Janet. Please, open the door.'

He didn't want to. He looked around him and saw the ripped paper and the chair had left a little hole in the wall. Michael gave himself a little slap in the face and pressed his forehead against the cold bathroom wall.

'Just a minute, okay?'

'Please open the door.'

It took Michael 15 minutes to cool down enough to let Janet in and when he did, Janet stepped into the room and approached him looking extremely alarmed.

'What's wrong, Mike? I heard you making noises... you seem upset.'

Michael was calmer now but his eyes were still flaming and suddenly he bursted into manic laughter.

'Oh! Like you didn't know who I was talking on the phone with! And close the door, would ya.'

Janet closed the door and then turned back to him.

'What did he say?'

'Jan, I don't really want to talk to you about it. Like I said earlier, he's nothing to me. _Nothing._ He shouldn't even have called today and it was unfortunate that he did. Period.'

'Oh, Michael, please!' Janet said frustrated. She put her hand on her brother's shoulder and shook him a little. 'Wake up! I can see you still care very much about him, why else would he make you feel that strongly?'

Michael didn't aswer. He gazed out of the window and saw Freddie standing by the window like in the morning they woke up here in his room... who knows how long ago.

'Okay, you don't want to talk to me. But I say this to you once: you love him and you can't stop that feeling no matter what. And don't look at me like that', she said quickly when Michael shot her a glare crossing his arms over his chest, 'I know what I'm talking about. I saw you two and I know I reacted badly back then, but it wasn't because I don't like Freddie. It's because I don't like what you're doing to yourself and Brooke. You're still engaged to her, aren't you? Have you ever thought how you can be engaged to someone and love someone else at the same time?'

'Are you finished?' Michael interrupted, feeling his blood boiling again at the mention of "someone else".

'You're really getting on my nerves right now', Janet raised her voice. 'Listen to me Michael! Hear what I'm saying: stop this insanity and tell Brooke the truth! Be honest to her even if you can't be honest to yourself! You don't want to marry her!'

'Yes I do!' Michael shouted at her, clenching his fists. 'I want to marry her because I love her!'

'But you love Freddie, don't you? You told me you love him! Were you lying to me?'

'No, I wasn't...' Michael dropped his voice, 'Okay, I do love him. But you know what? He... He...'

He tried to spit it out but the thought was too painful. Way more painful than he imagined it to be.

'He doesn't love you back? And he told you that over the phone?'

Michael nodded and pursed his lips.

'I see. I'm sorry. But it's time for you to make some big decisions and he just might have done it a little bit easier for you.'

'Yeah.'

'Okay... Maybe my advice aren't always the best... I can still give you a hug though. I know it hurts', she whispered into his ear, 'but time heals most wounds, you know. Now you'll take a nap and later we'll go have fun with Brooke. Alright?'

'Alright', Michael said and let Janet cover him with a blanket. _'Thanks.'_

* * *

_**PLEASE BE KIND AND REVIEW! Thank you so much for reading this far :)**  
_


	28. Making Moves

Chapter Twenty-Eight

**MAKING MOVES**

* * *

Had you seen Michael, Brooke ja Janet and their two bodyguards walking by in the _Universal Studios Theme Park_, chances are you wouldn't have recognized them. Each of them was wearing a different wig and Michael - who was definitely the most well-known of them all - hid his famous features behind wacky moustache, artificial beard, fake nose and pair of nerdy glasses. The illusion was complete and thus it was easy for them to blend in and enjoy a day at the amusement park.

'How about eating some good ol' cotton candy, ladies?' Michael asked in a funny, nasal tone making both Brooke and Janet howl in laughter. 'You want some?'

A few people passing by shot weird looks at them but they ignored them and kept on playing their little game.

'Oh yes, I'd love to dig my face into a cloud of cotton candy', Brooke replied trying to mimic Minnie Mouse. 'How about you, Princess Goldenhair?'

Janet chuckled and pulled her artificial blonde locks behind her ears.

'Well, I happen to eat cotton candy every day in my castle, do you have anything special on the list?'

'Maybe we should check out one of the attractions first. '_The Adventures of Conan: A Sword and Sorcery Spectacular!_I've been told it's very good show indeed.'

After the show Michael, Brooke and Janet went to buy chocolate covered ice cream. When they sat on the bench eating their cones, a young, blonde man passed by wearing a perfect replica of the "Beat It" outfit and Michael almost choked on his ice cream.

'He's got a nice ass though, I'd hit that ass. Would you, Mike?' Janet commented sarcastiacally and poked Michael, making him blush a shade or two of pink.

'No I wouldn't', he muttered and Brooke giggled frantically at his embarrassment.

'Okay what shall we do next? The House of Horrors?' Michael suggested and had that evil glint in his eyes. 'It's close to miiiidnight, and something evil's lurking in the daaaark', he sang and grabbed Brooke from behind. Brooke shrieked and tried to struggle free - to no avail.

'Guys', Janet sighed exasperated and separated the two. 'You're drawing way too much attention. Lets go get something to eat, I'm starving.'

'In a minute', Michael stated and dropped a little kiss on Brooke's temple, making her blush. 'What do you think Brooke, should we get married here or in Las Vegas?' he whispered into her ear.

Brooke's smile faded and she made a shocked face at Michael and then Janet, who hadn't heard anything but looked at them suspiciously.

'Wha - wha - what? Are you serious?'

'Yeah. I mean, damnit, I love you and I wanna marry you as soon as possible. So why don't we just do it? This summer? What do you think?'

It wasn't that Brooke hadn't heard him, she just didn't know what to answer. Get married _now_, just like that, out of the blue?

'You know, I've been wanting to have my own apartment for a long time, and we could start a new life altogether, forget about keeping this as a secret and just... escape it all, right? I know I've been a bad boyfriend', he confessed getting more serious, 'but I'll make it up for you.'

'What's the big secret?' Janet asked annoyed and pursed her lips. 'I'm feeling left out here.'

'It's nothing', Brooke rushed to say but Michael interruped her with a gesture of his hand.

'What do you say?' he asked in a louder voice and looked straight into Janet, who raised her eyebrow questioningly.

'Yeah, why not', Brooke answered and Michael's hard face malted into a big grin and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side.

'So be it.'

'Be _WHAT?_' Janet questioned, starting to get a little angry.

'We're getting married this summer.'

* * *

'Oh that's wonderful, wonderful news!'

A cup of well-brewed coffee was put back down on its saucer with a click when Katherine Jackson hurried to hug first his son and then her soon-to-be daughter-in-law.

'I've been waiting for this for so long, you have no idea... I almost thought it was _never_going to happen. Oh, this is some really great news. Does your father know about this?' she asked placing her hand on Michael's shoulder.

'No he doesn't', Michael said truthfully and he and Brooke changed worried looks, 'but Brooke's father has given us his blessings so everything should be fine. Also, Idon't need a permission from Joseph to get married', he added in a cooler tone.

'Of course you don't', Katherine agreed. 'But Marlon and Randy are in the garden, you should tell them instantly... Boys! Come on into the house!'

The wooden door leading to the garden cracked open and Marlon's and Randy's curious faces appeared the in doorway.

'What is it, mum?'

'Michael's got something to tell ya. Now listen.'

She nodded at her son encouragingly.

'Brooke and I...', Michael started, all of a sudden very conscious of his sweaty palms and trembling lips, 'We're engaged and going to have our wedding in a month.'

Marlon and Randy looked at each other and then let out a loud **_'no way!' _**before erupting into cheers.

'Well, our brother Mike is a man after all!' they mocked and punched their brother in the stomach, making him catch his breath for a second. 'And here we were thinking this day would never come! Well, of course it would, of course it would!' they went on patting his back.

'What do you mean, "you were thinking"?' Michael tried to inquire but didn't get an answer to his question.

'So, where are you going to live then? You'll need an apartment of your own once you're a happy, newlywed couple, right?'

'We'll see', Michael said mysteriously and took Brooke's hand in a comforting manner. She was looking very uneasy, clearly hating being in the center of attention and kept twiddling with her fingers.

'We need a nice dress for ya, and a lot of flowers... Oh, white lilies are going to look _so_beautiful in your hair!'

* * *

A couple of weeks passed quickly and the wedding preparations were in full swing. Brooke and Katherine did most of the practical work though as Michael was busy as always rehearsing and doing whatever. Charlotte was absolutely over-whelmed when Brooke asked her to be her bridesmaid. Michael chose Tito to be his bestman as he couldn't think of anyone better to do the job.

Everything was going to be small and modest - there were going to be only few guests in addition to their close families: although Michael said he didn't want to keep it under wraps anymore, it still wasn't like him to announce to the whole world about it. He knew the press would figure their marriage out without too much encouragement.

'You should think what this does to your career though', Frank DiLeo, Michael's new manager stated once he heard about his plans. 'Married man isn't as tempting as a single guy. I reckon your fans will be _devastated_to hear you're out of the market from now on', he said with a playful wink.

'They'll get over it', Michael replied non-chalantly adjusting the gain control on the mixer he was using.

Frank DiLeo smoothed his tie and nodded.

'Very well. You know what you're doing. By the way, I got some more information about that ranch you were interested in buying.'

Michael prickled up his ears and turned to look at Frank. The ranch was the one where he had been shooting _Say Say Say_with Paul McCartney a year back. He really liked the place and was planning to purchase it.

'They were willing to bring the price down by 10%. But it's still way over what you originally intended to spend.'

'Okay, you stay in touch with the owners and keep me updated, okay?' Michael said and Frank touched the rim of his hat before strutting out of the studio door.


	29. The Stag Night

Chapter Twenty-Nine

**THE STAG NIGHT**

* * *

Michael stepped back and observed his reflection in the mirror. This was his last evening as an unmarried man and he felt weird.

'I love Brooke', he said to himself. 'This is the right thing to do.'

Last night he had called Mick Jagger and asked him to finish the song he and Freddie had been recording. Since Freddie wasn't going to do it, someone else would. It wasn't like he needed him for anything: it was all in the past and he would start a new, wonderful life with Brooke, build up his own Neverland and live there with his family.

Right now he was only worried about the way he looked. His nose... was too big. For as long as he could remember he had tried to cover it up, by using make-up and even by getting his nose done once, but it seemed to have no effect at all. It was still huge and ugly and tomorrow it was going to be immortalized in his wedding photo. Karen - his makeup artist - could possibly come up with something...

Michael's pondering was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in his room. He ripped his eyes off the mirror and headed to the door. He peeked out of the bathroom but there was nothing out of ordinary in the bedroom. It was empty.

'I must be imagining things', he thought and took a step towards the LP player to put on some classical music to calm his nerves - but as soon as he did, a pair of strong arms grabbed hold of him from behind and a black sack was drawn over his head before he could even yelp.

'What the hell? Hey! What are you doing? Let me go!' Michael shrieked but the abductor completely ignored his attempts to struggle free. His hands were tied together with ropes and after that he was slung over someone's shoulders and carried out of the room.

Michael was scared to death. He had no idea how these men had gotten into his house, past all the gates and bodyguards. How come no one had stopped them? And had they done something to his mom, too?

They were now climbing down the stairs and Michael tried to cry for help - but no one heard him. The men were clearly going to take him out of the house and Michael feared no one would stop them from doing that. Since the yelling wasn't going to help, he decided to try something else and jerked his head upwards, hitting the man carrying him in the back of the head.

'****!' the man shouted almost dropping him and that's when Michael recognized his voice.

'Jermaine?'

Suddenly he was the sack was yanked off his head and he was descended back onto the ground. Michael could see all of his brothers - including Jermaine - rolling on the floor, laughing their heads off at the shocked expression on his face.

'What kind of stupid **** is this?' Michael asked irritated and pushed at Jermaine's chest.

'Well, it's your stag night Mike and we wanted to surprise you a bit. And this won't be the last one, we promise', Jackie explained with a cheeky grin and dragged Michael by the sleeve outside where a cab was waiting for them.

'Did we hurt you?' Randy inquired after they had squeezed themselves into the back seat.

'Yes you did.'

'Oh Mike, cheer up! This is your last night of freedom and you deserve a bit of fun!' Tito said and tried to pat Michael's head, but Michael slapped his hand away.

'Okay, give him some of this.'

Marlon gave Tito a bottle of vodka. Tito took a good swig of the bottle and offered it to Michael. First Michael thought about refusing but after he realized there was no other way of doing this he took the vodka and took a sip of it.

It tasted awful. The alcohol burned the back of his throat and made him grimace. It was like drinking liquid fire or something. His brothers were happy though and ruffled his hair as the car pulled up in front of a suspicious looking night club.

'Everybody out! Now!'

When they entered the night club, Michael took a look around him.

The surroundings did little to ease his growing discomfort: the scarlet walls were scuffy and they looked like they hadn't been washed in years. The seats in the lounge were upholstered in tattered red velvet and the people sitting in those seats weren't any better: all the women were clad in impossibly tight and revealing party dresses and when they walked by in high heels, the men didn't even bother to conceal their blatant staring. There was also the bartender, who was a creepy-looking old guy with ridiculous moustache and who got a strange scar running across his face, and he greeted Michael with a toothy smile and forced a drink into his hand before he could utter a word.

'Welcome to the Bachelor's Paradise!' Marlon announced spreading his arms like a bird.

None of this was new to Michael, of course: he and his brothers had been performing in places like this long before they were discovered. He couldn't, however, avoid the uneasy feeling of being out of place when he saw one of the girls reveal her breasts to a man who shamelessly gripped them and squeezed them like they were sponges. A golden band glimmered in his left hand while he groped the girl and Michael was quite convinced it wasn't his wife he was touching.

They went further inside and there Michael saw two women dancing on stage around poles with almost nothing on. They seated themselves right in front of the stage and Michael watched in awe when one of the ladies came down from the stage and sat in Jermaine's lap. Jermaine took hold of her butt and rubbed it hard making her giggle like crazy.

Then she winked at Michael and walked up to him. Her hair was dark and her eyes green shone green like those of a beast of prey. Michael shuddered when she began to dance for him, locking her eyes with his and opening her painted lips in the most sinful manner. Her breasts bounched and jiggled with her motions and Michael couldn't help feeling a bit aroused when she licked her lips and straddled his left thigh, rolling her hips and sighing in pleasure.

'Relax', she whispered in a breathy voice. 'There's no need to be afraid, Michael. No one will ever know...'

Someone clicked inside Michael's head and reminded him of what he was doing. He excused himself, telling his brothers he would go take some fresh air and went outside into the backyard of the club. He slumped into the ground next to a garbage can and closed his eyes, thinking about the man he saw earlier.

What made him any different, after all? He was exactly like that man, having betrayed both Brooke and Freddie, cheated on them. Janet was right. How could he go tomorrow and say 'I do' when he knew he had already been unfaithful?

Michael decided to take a little walk to sort out his thoughts and suddenly it dawned to him that this was the very street he and Brooke had been walking on when she told him the first time she loved him. The memory made him feel warm inside. She had been so beautiful that night: young, innocent and angel-like. What Michael loved most about her were her eyes. There was so much wisdom in her eyes. They were gentle, loving and trusting.

He was definitely the luckiest guy to have her.

Michael was so deeply in thought that he didn't notice a man walking toward him from the opposite direction and bumped straight into him, knocking the man over.

'I'm sorry - ' Michael started but his apology was cut short as he saw the face of the man. 'You!' he hissed in disbelief when Andy stood up, brushing his clothes and a smug grin adorning his features.

'I must be the luckiest guy in the world, getting tackled to the ground by the great Michael Jackson.'

'Could you please keep your voice down', Michael asked, terrified that someone would hear their conversation. 'I have no business with you whatsoever and it'd better stay that way too.'

Andy's eyes flashed dangerously.

'What are you doing here then, taking a bath or what?'

Now Michael was genuinely confused.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean, I was going to take a bath right there', he nodded toward one of the doors behind him. 'Freddie used to come here quite often, you know. To see me. And not just to see if you know what I mean.'

Anger flared up inside of Michael. He would have certainly punched the guy had he not known better than that. Andy was just going to provoke him and he wasn't going to give him the pleasure of knowing how much his words hurt him.

'Are you still together?' Andy mocked. 'Or are you maybe getting nailed by some other cracker these days?'

'Shut up!'

'Do we have a problem here?' Michael heard a familiar voice ask somewhere behind his back and turned around to see Tito approaching them. When he reached Michael's side, he crossed his arms across his chest and stared at Andy murderously.

'Do we have a problem? I don't think so, Jackson', Andy replied, slightly unsettled by Tito's presence. 'Your brother might have a problem though.'

Tito frowned and glanced sideways at Michael.

'And what's that?'

Michael stiffened. Andy noticed this and his mischievous smile made a return appearance.

'Oh, he doesn't know?' he asked in awe. 'Now this is priceless! Even though I thought I told the whole world about your... little secret.'

'What secret?'

'He's lying', Michael stated but his voice sounded empty to his ears. He was totally numb. He knew all along it had been Andy spreading all those rumors. Of course it was him: he had seen him and Freddie when they were at the hotel.

'Lets put it this way: your brother is... light in the loafers. And I don't mean his dance moves.'

Michael could have died right there. He didn't even dare to look how Tito's eyes widened as he slowly turned to look at him.

Michael shook his head vehemently, not lifting his gaze from his feet.

'No I'm _not_', he said although his voice was weak. 'He's crazy.'

Tito was silent for a moment. Then he nodded and turned back to Andy.

'Whoever the hell you are, you don't you go around talking **** about my brother', he growled angrily and shoved the other man back a little. 'He's not gay, he's getting married tomorrow, you ****!'

'Oh he _is...?_'

Michael cursed silently in his mind and grasped Tito's jacket.

'Lets go', he pleaded quietly, yanking his older brother in the direction of the club.

'Wow. Must be a happy marriage then. Or what do you think, Michael? My congratulations!' Andy shouted after them. 'By the way, in case he hasn't told you, you better go see doctor before your wedding night! Just in case!'

'What a ****er', Tito muttered under his breath when he and Michael entered the club from the back door. 'That guy was completely nuts. Thank God I went out to check on you, who knows what what could have happened if I didn't. Do you really know him?'

Michael shook his head again, not quite sure how to explain the situation.

'I just don't get it, why the hell were you even talking to this guy? And what was that thing about you being... uh?'

Suddenly Michael felt sick.

'I don't know. But thanks for having my back, Tito. I think I have to use the bathroom now. Excuse me...'

And before Tito could react, he ran in the direction of the bathroom. Once he was in, he locked the door, collapsed in front of the toilet and threw up.

What if Tito thought Andy that what Andy was telling was the truth? And what was Andy talking about, _"you should go see the doctor"_? Was it just another insult or was there really something wrong with him?

After some time, Michael stood up and flushed the toilet. Then he walked back to the bar, where his brothers were still sitting. He could tell by the way they looked at each other that Tito had told them what happened in the backyard.

'Are you okay, Mike?' Randy asked, sounding genuinely worried.

'Yeah, I'm fine', Michael said slowly, trying to read their expressions. 'I would like to go home, though.'

They nodded and followed Michael to the front door. He could feel their stares boring into his back and heard them whispering but ignored them.

'Everything will change tomorrow', he thought determinedly, 'when I marry Brooke and leave this horrible life behind me.'


	30. Too Much To Life

Chapter Thirty

**TOO MUCH TO LIFE**

* * *

'Good morning, my child.'

Brooke opened her eyes and grinned at her mother, who leaned over her smiling and stroking her hair. The rising sun was shining brightly through the curtains.

'I remember the day I married your dad like it was yesterday. Although I was quite a bit older than you', she added with a chuckle. 'Here's some breakfast for you.'

She placed the tray on her lap and Brooke embraced her heartily.

'I'll go do my makeup now. Please eat.'

Brooke thanked her and started to eat as fast as she could. Once she was done, she took the tray to the kitchen and went to open the door for Charlotte, who immediately barged in carrying heavy bags full of all kind of accessories she thought were needed to make Brooke look like a proper bride. She didn't really care even if Brooke had explained her multiple times that this wedding was going to be a small one: it was a wedding nevertheless and Charlotte was more than happy to put all his energy into making sure Brooke would look her absolute best today.

'First we'll do your hair', she stated and made Brooke sit down on a pillow. Since Charlotte - whom she had been friends with for as long as she could remember - was a professional hair stylist, Brooke was happy to let her do whatever she liked with her hair.

And the result was nothing short of impressive: when Teri, Brooke's mother, exited the bathroom she actually broke into tears at the sight of her daughter.

'You look absolutely heavenly', she sobbed and hugged her daughter from behind. 'Oh let me take a picture of you.'

After two hours of preparation, Brooke was finally ready to put on her dress and get into the limousine, which would take her to Michael's Encino mansion. They had agreed to have the wedding there, to avoid any paparazzi attention. The press did know Michael and Brooke were up to something (of course they did), but they didn't know the date nor the place yet.

However, Brooke was proved wrong when the limousine turned onto the narrow road leading to the main gates of the Hayvenhurst mansion. In addition to the ordinary crowd of fan girls swarming in front of the house there was also a bunch of thirsty paparazzi who freaked out when they spotted the limousine. It took Brooke full 15 minutes to get through the mob and when the guards finally managed the close the gates, she and Charlotte shared nervous giggles at the absurdity of the situation.

'I can't believe we just did that', Brooke said and leaned her head against the car seat. 'Okay, you can safely say that's going to be all over the news in no time.'

* * *

Janet straightened up Michael's tie. Then she took a step back and scrutinized him. Michael's shiny, inky-black curls dropped on his shoulder in a charming way and his lean and muscular body looked really attractive in a tuxedo. He was every bit as elegant as a groom should.

'What do you think?' Michael asked worried.

'Not bad', she decided and gave him a glass of water. 'You could do with less blush though.'

Michael laughed and swatted her playfully on the arm. Then he looked out of the window and spotted Brooke's limousine parked in front of the garages. A lump formed in his throat.

'I'll go take care of her. You could maybe use some time for yourself."

Michael nodded. After Janet left, he put the empty water glass on top of a drawer and moved closer to the window, watching the arrival of the wedding guests. He was relieved at the thought there wouldn't be more than forty of fifty people in total attending the ceremony. Luckily Brooke wasn't into big and pompous parties either.

Michael glanced over at the clock and saw it was about the time for him to go downstairs. A little bit reluctanctly he left the window and took the rose from the small vase that graced his bedside table and pinned the it carefully to his lapel.

Then he opened the door into the hallway and walked down the stairs. He could heard the merry chatter of the guests somewhere far away.

It all sounded very distant to him - but then again, so did everything.

At the end of the stairs he ran into Annie.

'Michael, one of the guests wants to meet you. Now.'

Michael raised his eyebrows. He followed Annie into a small chamber located near the front door, curious to see who it was, and stopped in his tracks when he saw Freddie sitting on one of the couches.

Freddie seemed worn out somehow and he looked definitely older than Michael remembered: his skin had a greyish tint to it and his eyes - who stared intently at the wooden floor - had lost their spark.

Annie excused herself and closed the door leaving the two men alone. After a short while, Freddie took his gaze from the floor to Michael and his lips tightened into a thin line.

'I'm sorry I came in like this, but I had to come', he said matter-of-factly and beckoned Michael to sit down.

When he didn't, Freddie let out a dry laugh.

'Don't be afraid, I'm not here to spoil your special day. I'm here to... to tell you something I should have told you ages ago. And I hope it's not too late.'

Michael wasn't sure if he wanted to hear what Freddie was about to say but he listened anyways, standing in the doorway still trying to digest the fact Freddie had actually come all the way from London to meet him.

'I want you to know that the reason why I left you in last September... was not because I wouldn't have wanted to be with you anymore. It was because I got to hear something that changed... Well, I don't know it "change" is the word I'd use...'

He cleared his throat awkwardly. Michael could sense it was hard for him speak for some reason and he felt a surge of pity for him.

'Michael, I was diagnosed with HIV.'

Michael listened to him with a sinking heart. HIV would eventually develop into AIDS and that was a fatal illness. He didn't want to think about what that meant.

'It's something I can't get rid of and I don't know how long I've had it. But it's highly contagious and because we... we... you know.'

That's when Freddie's voice broke. Michael stood up and walked slowly toward him, kneeling down before him. He touched Freddie's shoulder very carefully.

'Freddie, I know.'

Freddie looked back at him in disbelief.

'You do?'

'I do', Michael replied quietly. 'I met Andy last night and somewhere along the way he told me to go see doctor. And I did.'

'What did he say? The doctor, I mean?' Freddie asked anxiously.

'He told me I'm completely clean.'

Freddie's worried countenance melted into a relieved smile. He reached out and grasped Michael's hand that was still resting on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

'That's... that's wonderful news, Michael.'

'It would have been nice to hear it from you though. Since you knew', Michael continued, frowning a little.

'Yes, I should have told you earlier', Freddie admitted and let got of Michael's hand, shaking his head regretfully. 'I'm really sorry for that. Somehow, I couldn't get my head around it any sooner and once I heard that you are getting married...'

Michael grimaced but didn't say anything.

'... I knew I had the last chance to warn you before it would get even worse. God, I'm so happy for you, Michael and I'm sorry that I hurt you. If you just could ever forgive me.'

A sudden loud noise coming from outside the chamber startled both of them and woke Michael up from his thoughts. He realized he had been staring at Freddie. Hastily, he ran a thumb across the older man's forehead and then took a hold of his chin, looking him straight in the eye.

'I forgive you', he said firmly and noticed Freddie's lips cracking slightly.

Michael had an urge to kiss him but he couldn't give in to the thought. It felt wrong. Instead he just drew Freddie into a deep hug and held him as close as he could, savoring the familiar smell of his shirt and the warm, solid chest against his own.

'Thank you', Freddie whispered back and gave him a little peck on the cheek.

'I really have to go now', Michael said in a dull voice.

'I know.'

They parted and looked at each other and somewhere in Freddie's eyes Michael could still see the of longing and the love for him - but mostly just relief, knowing sadness and acceptance. Freddie caressed his cheek a sad smile curving his lips.

'You know, Michael. I honestly wish that the things would have turned out differently between you and I. But I guess it wasn't meant to happen, it was too much to life or something like that. Please promise me you'll treat Brooke well. Better than you have so far. She deserves that.'

Michael wanted to cry.

'I'll try', he said in a choked voice and embraced Freddie again.

'Take care of yourself.'

'I will.'

Freddie rose up and picked up the Michael's rose that had dropped on the ground at some point. He fastened the flower back to its place and turned to leave.

Michael wanted to say something, something meaningful but the words didn't find their way out of his mouth. He watched how Freddie walked out of the door and only after he was gone, he let the tears fall.

_'Gosh'_, he said to himself and crouched down. 'There must be more to life than this.'

'Michael?' he heard Annie's voice call him from behind the closed door and Michael stood up, trying his best to compose himself for what laid ahead of him.

* * *

_"If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing."_

Michael and Brooke glanced at each other and shared a brief smile before turning back to the priest.

'_Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. _May I have the rings?'

Michael nodded at Tito who pulled the box out of his pocket and gave them the rings.

'Michael Joseph Jackson, do you take Brooke Christa Shields for your lawful wedded wife, to live in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love, honour, comfort, and cherish her from this day forward, forsaking all others, keeping only unto her for as long as you both shall live?'

'I do', Michael replied.

'Brooke Christa Shields, do you take Michael Joseph Jackson for your lawful wedded husband, to live in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love, honour, comfort, and cherish him from this day forward, forsaking all others, keeping only unto him for as long as you both shall live?'

Brooke smiled.

'I do.'

They exchanged the rings. After the procedure, the priest completed the ceremony and finally said:

'I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.'

And Michael captured Brooke's lips in a loving kiss, thousands of emotions running through his heart. But above them all he felt blessed and redeemed. Brooke's lips tasted like they always had tasted: sweet, honey-like and perfect.

After the kiss they turned around to face their families. Everyone was cheering and applauding at them. Brooke had the most beautiful light in her eyes and there were white lilies in her hair.

Michael knew he didn't deserve her, but at the moment he didn't care. He had made his promise and sworn in front of his family, her family and Freddie to keep it. It didn't matter what had happened in the past: from now on he would try to be the best husband he could possibly be despite his weaknesses and defects.

It was his life after all. And now it wasn't just his but Brooke's as well.

**- THE END -**


End file.
